A Question to the Universe
by SlytherinTears
Summary: Christine Chapel — fresh out of the medical academy — is assigned to the Enterprise only months after the havoc wreaked by Nero. Spock/Christine, Kirk/Uhura.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: If I owned any aspect of Star Trek, I'd be sitting on some beach somewhere with Zachary Quinto.

Author's Note: I've been a Star Trek fan for nearly ten years now, but if I make some sort of canonical error, don't hesitate to tell me.

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**PROLOGUE.**

"You know, where I'm from, we've got a saying, Chapel -- _Every dog should have a few fleas_."

Christine Chapel, who was anxiously making sure her black Starfleet uniform was in top condition in the reflection of her small pocket mirror, glared at Leonard McCoy for a moment in annoyance. "And where I'm from, they have a saying also --_ if you're an aviaphobic, don't join a military association based out of outer space_," she shot back sarcastically.

"Touché."

A couple of officers passed the two sickbay personnel. One of them, a beautiful dark-skinned woman about her age flashed a sparkling smile at them both. McCoy nodded and gave her a small wave. "That's Uhura, our green-blooded Science Officer's ol' girl. They, er, had a few disagreements over the last few weeks and finally decided to call it quits. She didn't waste much time mourning, though. I met up with her and Kirk at the Academy bar the other night -- and both were looking pretty comfortable with each other. And that's saying something, considering they were practically at each other's throats six months ago, during the Romulan attack."

Christine sighed and shut her mirror quickly. In an attempt to block out McCoy's rambling, she stared out of the shuttlecraft window and into the Starfleet Academy hanger. She wasn't usually this thorough with her outward appearance; in fact, until quite recently, she always had a pair of bulky horn-rimmed glasses perched on the bridge of her nose that always seemed much too big for her face. Unfortunately, Starfleet had strict regulations about optometric health and she was required to have laser surgery that restored her eyes to 20/20 vision before stepping onboard a starship.

"Loosen up a bit, Chapel. Don't get too big for your britches. You may be a chick fresh out of the Medical Academy, but you were at the top of your class. I betcha that wasn't some random achievement." She couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic or sincere; with McCoy, it could be either way any day of the week.

The vessel was due for liftoff any moment now. Christine glanced down at her watch. Right on queue, the automated door that led into the hangar closed and everyone began to buckle themselves up into their seats. She heard McCoy's breathing sharply rise as his buckle wouldn't stay locked; he was jamming it too hard, causing it not stay.

"You're going to break it and then I'll be in trouble because you'll practically be in my lap the entire ride up," she muttered, slapping his large sweaty hands from the seatbelt. The buckle closed with a simple _click_, causing him to finally relax.

"Thanks."

"Loosen up, McCoy. The Enterprise is approximately 250 miles above the Earth. I'm sure that if the shuttle malfunctioned, you'd be dead before you hit the ground. No worries." She gave him an eerie smile.

He gulped nervously and as the shuttle began to lift off, he gripped the precaution bar on the back of the row of seats in front of them. His knuckled were turning white.

Christine leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes.

This was going to be a long ride.

* * *

A/N: So...how was it? I love Christine Chapel and I wanted to incorporate her into the Abramverse. Also, as much as I love Uhura and Spock, I don't love them _together_. I've always been a big Uhura/Kirk shipper, so don't butcher me. :p Also, how did I do with McCoy? I'm always worried about my characterization...


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Trust me...I own nothing.

* * *

Commander Spock strode onto the newly-repaired bridge, past the communication station and the captain's chair, and seated himself at his post on the starboard side. Mr. Chekov and Mr. Sulu were already seated at the helm, reading for takeoff and conversing quietly with each other.

"Where is the Captain?" Spock asked them after a few minutes of inside jokes and broken English on the young Russian's part, mixed with the frequent beeping of the computers. He did not recall seeing Jim since they arrived on the starship via shuttle.

"I believe he was showing Lieutenant Uhura to her new quarters," Sulu replied, his voice a little cautious, as if treading on thin ice. It was no secret among the higher officers that their relationship didn't exactly end on smooth terms. He knew that Jim and her had started getting closer, and he was not going to mourn over it; if anything, he was glad that she could be with someone who could show her love the way she deserved.

"Very well. Has Dr. McCoy come aboard yet?"

"He has, sir. He has been showing the new doctor around the ship." Since the death of the previous chief medical officer on the previous mission, McCoy had taken his place and a replacement for his post was needed. Spock had heard very little about the newest addition to the sickbay, other than the fact that the young doctor was extremely well-versed in exobiology and biophysics, and knowing his supreme health along with his superior Vulcan agility, he knew it would stay that way.

Just as Spock turned back to his station, the automatic door leading to the elevator lift opened and Captain James T. Kirk demonstrated his trademark strut on his way to the captain's chair, while Nyota Uhura seated herself at the communications post. Spock's excellent peripheral vision confirmed the long stare that she was giving him before starting on her work.

"All personnel aboard, Mr. Spock?" asked Jim in formal tone, something unusual for a recent Starfleet graduate who only months ago fearlessly defied his academic suspension and managed to somehow get onboard.

"Yes sir," Spock answered, eyeing the monitor that reported the number of crewmembers aboard the ship, as well as the secured status of the shuttles.

Jim pressed one of the communication buttons on the arm of the chair. "All set, Scotty?"

"Aye, captain!" came chief engineer Montgomery Scott's enduring Highlander accent. "She's ready for ascension."

"Alrighty then. Mr. Sulu?"

"Separating from space dock, sir…all clear. Ready for warp, captain."

Jim leaned back in his seat, as if basking. "Maximum warp, if you will, Mr. Sulu."

Spock remembered when he had to instruct Mr. Sulu on the reason why the ship was not entering warp. The commander knew that he was a very capable pilot and trusted that it would not happen again. He blamed the human emotion of novice anxiety mixed with the dire situation at hand to be the cause.

"Aye, sir." Sulu pushed forward on the silver warp handle. The stars surrounding them suddenly began to blur and soon vanished. A loud _bang _that usually accompanied warp speed followed.

As Chekov began to verbally enter in the password for the intercom system ("9-5-_V_ictor, _v_ictor-2"), Jim turned to Spock, who was glued to the science station monitors.

"Spock, are you alright?" The Vulcan looked up at his captain. Jim began to look towards Uhura, who was twisting a dial at her post. Spock refused to look in her direction, neck stiff in his usual statuesque stance.

"I am utterly well, Captain," he answered in his familiar pronounced tone. Spock then turned his back to his commanding officer and got to work on monitoring any foreign materials within a light year's radius of the starship.

* * *

Christine opened the large, overbearing suitcase that had been placed on her bed by one of the unlucky ensigns assigned to the luggage shuttle. It was filled with many of the same dark blue shirts assigned to those in the science division, along with multiple pairs of black pants; she had opted out of wearing a skirt due to the fact that a sickbay can sometimes turn into a hectic place and fashion was not something that was needed to be worried about.

She pulled out a framed holophotograph from her bag and set it on her desk. It was a picture of her family -- her mother Theresa, her father Felix, her younger sister Abigail, as well as her niece Naomi. It was a very picturesque image, but, of course, nothing was perfect; her astrophysicist mother had recently been laid off from her high-paying position at a Starfleet research center, while her father was struggling with his diplomatic duties on a foreign Andorian base located on the moon Titania. Her sister -- who was branded the black sheep of the family after getting pregnant at the age of sixteen -- was struggling to raise her four year old daughter without any help from the father.

Christine frequently played the caretaker to her family, doing exactly what they wanted, whether it be babysitting little Naomi, or working extra hours at the research center at Starfleet Academy, sacrificing her nonexistent social life in the process. It was probably the reason why she had become a doctor -- she already knew how to take care of people, so why not get the official title?

Sighing, she spread herself out on the large bed, stretching out her limbs in exhaustion. As much as she hated to admit it, she was going to miss her overbearing family -- signing up for this Five Year Mission may have been a major mistake.

Of course, everyone seemed nice enough -- Dr. McCoy, the man who had mentored her over the past few months, introduced her to everyone in sickbay. He made sure that she would fit in with the rest of them, like an older brother looking out for a younger sister just entering high school -- or, in this case, an aviaphobic older brother with a slight anger problem and a slight backlog on his child support.

But, no one was perfect.

She was the poster child for that phrase, with her inability to start up a decent conversation without scaring the person off with her rather large dose of sarcasm that seemed to always lurk in her voice, which made it a little difficult for people to take her seriously.

She rubbed the bridge of her nose, still not used to the fact that her glasses were long gone and replaced with laser surgical implants in the cornea.

The reason for signing up for this mission was to get away. To get away from the responsibility of always having to look after her family, to get away from the fact that her ex-boyfriend, the celebrated Dr. Roger Korby, duped her into thinking her really cared. Oh yes, aside from finding him in bed with his research assistant, he really did care about her. And aside from the black eye she inflicted upon him, as well as the fact she had no desire to ever seem him again, she really did care about him.

Oh, the dynamics human relationships and the disappointment it incurs.

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A/N: Review, maybe?


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: If I owned Star Trek, I'd end up making a ridiculous amount of Spock/Chapel romance novels, complete with the corny, photoshopped covers. Gah. I wish.

* * *

Her first assignment was the very next day.

Doctor McCoy and she were to report to the transporter room to await the arrival of the captain and his science officer so that they could be immediately evaluated. They had beamed onto an unidentified planetoid (which was a relatively rare occurrence) where they were going to take life readings from any perennial organisms found there. Due to the humble supply of oxygen and nitrogen that was practically congruent to that on Earth, Christine knew that the two senior officers had nothing to worry about, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

After nearly two hours of waiting around for them to return, Montgomery Scott (or, Scotty, as he insisted on being called) got the call to beam them up. As soon as the two completely materialized and stepped off the transporter pad, McCoy and Christine wasted no time in checking their stats.

"What are you doing, what is that?" The captain asked in a rushed voice, eyeing the long computerized syringe that she was now filling with a purple liquid.

"I'm injecting you with a vaccine against any sort of alien disease -- Orillian lung maggots are really getting around in the Dionysus IV quadrant," She quickly jabbed the needle into his neck.

"Sunnuva--!" He hollered in pain. "What is it with you medical fiends and your random painful injections?!"

"Don't worry, your science officer is getting the same treatment," she assured him, eyeing the Vulcan who was accepting the injection without any complaint. "It's Starfleet regulation for the starships orbiting any non-Federation Class M planet or planetoid to have vaccinations against foreign viruses on hand," Christine replied, citing the book of Starfleet medical regulations word-for-word.

"My God, man! Your heart rate is off the charts!" She heard the chief science officer marvel at the science officer's readings from his tricorder. "You coulda kicked the bucket on your way up!"

"That's normal for a Vulcan, Doctor McCoy," she called to him as she finished monitoring Kirk's pulse and decided he was still fit for duty. "Their hearts tend to work much faster due to the difficulty in reproducing copper-based blood." She rolled her eyes, slightly annoyed at her superior-ranking officer. He had very little knowledge of any race other than that of Humans, something acquired from studying medicine at a non-Starfleet institution.

"Well, it seems you are both fit to see another day. Before you get back to the bridge, I'd like you both to meet our new addition to the sickbay, Christine Chapel." McCoy gestured towards her.

She smiled slightly and gave a quick wave, but immediately mentally chastised herself for it, realizing she probably looked incredibly stupid.

"So you're Dr. Chapel, huh? Nice to meet you, doc, I'm James Kirk, but you can call me Jim," she awkwardly shook hands with the captain, not expecting such informality. Jim Kirk was a handsome man with dark blonde hair that seemed to have a slight auburn gleam that matched profoundly with his animated blue eyes. "This is my second-in-command and also the science officer, Commander Spock," he motioned to the Vulcan standing next to him, who was stiff and silent with his hands behind his back.

The first officer nodded at her sternly, not offering the same warm gesture that the captain did. His reserved and reticent movement was followed by an awkward silence. Jim coughed to turn the attention away from the standoffish conduct of his comrade. "It's about time we got back to the bridge, Spock. It was nice to meet you, doc."

Christine nodded at him and then stared up at the Vulcan, who was now striding to the elevator lift, followed by Captain Kirk.

"Don't mind him, Chapel," grumbled McCoy as they watched the lift close and zoom up. "The pointed-eared bastard's always like that -- all work and no play makes Spock a dull boy."

* * *

Spock strode into his quarters, locking the automatic door behind him with a security code. His lodgings were located on Deck 5, a section of the ship reserved especially for the senior officers, but had recently come to loathe the location due to the fact that Lieutenant Uhura and Jim also had living quarters in the same area -- it wasn't the fact that he didn't want them to be together, it was the fact that he felt invasive, perhaps even obtrusive in their presence, when they were together, whether it be on the bridge or when he turned a corner to see them engaged in a conversation, laughing.

Laughing. Something he never did, or better yet something he didn't even know how to do, one of the many things that Jim Kirk had the advantage in.

Spock crossed the room to seat himself on the sofa in the corner, which was next to the entryway of his sleeping quarters. He squeezed his fists, irritated, remembering.

_The domed park was sprawling with nature, from its artificial waterfalls to the orchids lining the pathways. The glass above that shielded the outside world had sunlight trickling down from it, a sign of a beautiful day both inside and out._

_The young Vulcan approached the beautiful officer, who was standing exactly where she wished to meet him -- the bench near the small cove that housed the aquatically endangered species; the latter of the two seemed to be entranced by a toucan perched on a palm bush nearby._

"_You wanted to meet me here, Nyota," he caught her attention, reminding her that he was there, sitting next to her. She seemed to be deep in thought, as if contemplating something very important, perhaps even dire. The toucan made a cawing sound and flapped its wings, momentarily flying away towards the orange trees near a small, rain-forest themed café._

"_Yes, I did, Spock."_

_He stared at her for a moment, trying to figure her out. They had not spoken in at least a week, since the last date they had been on. Since she had yearned her feelings to progress to a much more intimate level…something he was not wanting to go to just yet. "Nyota?"_

"_Do you remember when I first kissed you?"_

_How could he forget? When mixed with the event of his mother's death, as well as the destruction of his home planet, it was an occurrence hardly to be forgotten. "I do recall the occasion."_

_Nyota sighed in irritation. "And do you remember when I asked you what you needed? That I would give you anything?"_

"_Of course."_

"_Spock…I don't think we want the same things, at least when it comes to this relationship. You…You're so stiff, so aloof, so…" Her voice trailed off, her throat beginning to become filled with emotion. "I don't think I can do this anymore, Spock. I want someone who is willing to go the next step, to make a commitment, not someone who afraid to get close to someone, to be intimate--"_

"_I do not fear you, Nyota."_

"_I know you don't, Spock, but…you are afraid of what this might turn into, what we might turn into." She swallowed as her eyes began to fill to the brim with tears. I cannot be with someone who is not willing to go the next level. How can I fly when I am surrounded by iron bars?" _

Spock loosened his grip on his fists as the memory faded away.

Though he had never experienced it in his adult life, this had to be similar to what remorse was like. It was nothing that a sufficient amount of meditation couldn't solve -- or at least bury.

* * *

A/N: And there you have it. Spock's afraid of commitment. By the way, I'm totally open to suggestions you may have. Also, what would you think about a Spock/Chapel fanfiction that takes place in the Prime Universe? It would be slightly AU (which would totally defeat the whole purpose, but oh well...) and would end up intersecting with this story quite a bit. Would you read it?


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: If I owned Star Trek, I'd be happier than Augustus Gloop in the middle of that dang chocolate factory.

A/N: After a brief hiatus (hah, brief? What am I kidding...) I came up with an idea to get the ball rolling on this story.

Be forewarned, plot twists are amok.

* * *

"Hi, I'm here for my physical."

Christine looked up from her large pile of paperwork to find a familiar woman from the bridge crew grinning down at her. "Er…hi, Lieutenant…Uhura, correct?"

"Yeah, that's me. You're the new doctor, aren't you? Christine, right?"

"Uh, yes, I am," answered Christine, setting down her pen and getting up from her desk. She motioned over to one of the medical tables and allowed the lieutenant to where the evaluation was to take place.

Christine grabbed her electronic clipboard and typed in the surname of the officer and began to ask the usual questions involved in a quarterly physical examination.

"Any problems that you would care to address?" she asked, putting her tricorder into the correct settings.

"No," she answered confidently, letting Christine scan the length of her body. The doctor stopped at the midsection suddenly.

"Nothing?" Christine squinted at her tricorder screen and readjusted the settings and scanned the lieutenant once more. Much to no avail, it read the same thing that it had moments earlier. "Er…No shortness of breath, no fatigue, no abnormal food cravings, nothing like that?" Now she was slamming the device repeatedly against the palm of her hand in agitation, hoping that it would change the prognosis.

"Actually, now that you mention it, I have been a bit nauseous lately…" her tone suddenly turned worried. "Um…why do you ask, doctor?"

"Just let me get a second opinion, Lieutenant," Christine turned to a speaker-like machine and pressed a large red button that was directly beneath it. "Doctor McCoy to sickbay, please, Doctor McCoy to sickbay." She tried to not allow her anxiety to bleed through.

After what seemed like an eternity of waiting, Leonard McCoy entered the sickbay, looking around for Christine. He approached the doctor and patient, turning to Christine first. "What, Chapel? You forgot how to work the dang thing?" He immediately snatched the tricorder from Christine's slightly trembling grip and read over the stats, which followed with McCoy surveying Uhura for nearly a full minute.

"Doctor Chapel, can I speak to you, in private?" He motioned towards the other side of the sickbay. She followed him and as soon as they were far enough away from the confused woman, he grabbed her forearm suddenly to get her to face him.

"Please tell me you reprogrammed that device, that this is some sorta practical joke…" She shook her head, obviously confirming his fears. He ran a sweaty hand through his hair. "Goddamnit, Christine, I'm a surgeon, not a obstetrician!"

"I know, I know," she whispered hurriedly, obviously distressed. "What are we going to do, McCoy?"

"The only damned thing we can do. Inform her of her condition and drop her off at the nearest Starbase." McCoy sighed when he saw the look on Christine's face. "Christine, that's what she gets for not taking her contraceptive injections…all unmarried women onboard have to take em, you know that."

"Yes, I know that," she spat back at him, remembering the painful injection she was given before boarding the shuttle that delivered her to the ship.

Christine looked across the sickbay at Uhura, who was now glaring at them distressfully. "Well, I suppose I better let her know," she mumbled under her breath and miserably crossed the room.

"I've got some news, Lieutenant."

* * *

The starship _Enterprise_ departed from Starbase 65.

Christine recalled the events of the last few hours. After informing Nyota Uhura of her pregnancy, she gave her the ultimatum of either retiring from Starfleet (which was a horrifying prospect, according to the look on the linguistic officer's face) with commendation, or to be dropped off at the nearest Starbase and decide if she wanted to either go back to Earth, or stay there until she had the child. Afterwards, Christine was forced to call Captain James Kirk to the sickbay, to be informed of the decision (which was the latter of the two choices) as both a romantic partner and a captain. He was silent at first, but shared a glance with Uhura, after which he decided to escort Uhura back to Earth and stay with her until the birth of their child. To confirm this fact, Christine ran a brief paternity test. Though the couple was sure of the parentage, it was always better to be safe than sorry.

Christine remembered Jim walking with Uhura onto the Starbase. She looked devastated, almost as if she wanted to cry, but couldn't. Christine sensed that the young woman had always put up a stiff barrier between her and her shipmates, to prove that she was worthy enough to be aboard a starship. It was unfortunate, because she seemed like such an accomplished officer. Of course, Christine would never hold the unplanned pregnancy against her -- her younger sister, Abigail, had already gone through the situation. Uhura was lucky, though; unlike Abby, Kirk seemed like an unbreakable shelter in the middle of a hurricane, someone who would be there for her.

She was now standing on the bridge among the seated crew, whose attention was now on the newly-appointed captain, the former science officer Spock. A linguistics student from the lower deck replaced Uhura, but seemed nervous and didn't seem to recognize even half of the Federation languages, let alone the distinction between the Betazoid dialects.

"Warp speed ahead, Mr. Sulu," Spock's solemn voice broke the tensioned silence.

"Aye, sir," answered the helmsmen.

The new captain then stood up and turned to the two medical officers. Christine realized had never been this close to the Vulcan and realized for the first time how tall he was, probably at least foot taller than her diminutive five foot and two inches.

The Vulcan turned his attention to the senior medical officer. "Doctor McCoy, I am appointing you my science officer and second-in-command."

McCoy seemed dumbfounded. "Me? My God, you must be out of your Vulcan mind, Spock. I can't tell the difference between a damned meteorite and an asteroid. Why not Chekov or Sulu? Or even Scotty?"

"At seventeen, Mr. Chekov is much to young to be given such an esteemed position, while Mr. Sulu has not been properly trained in the science field. Mr. Scot must remain in the engine room as often as possible, due to his extensive knowledge of--"

"Okay, okay, I got it. Butcha gotta realize the mistake you are making. You're gonna want someone who can make something outta those damned computers and numbers, and that someone ain't me."

"Well, it seems that I am in need of a science officer, Doctor McCoy, and since you are lacking the proper knowledge needed for such a position, it seems I must look elsewhere," Spock concluded, seeming completely unchanged by the decision.

"Thank you, Captain Obvious," McCoy grumbled. "Wait, what about Chapel, here?" he turned to Christine, who suddenly began shaking her head rapidly in refusal, wanting nothing to do with the conflict between the two. McCoy's strong grip on her upper arm pulled her forward, between him and Spock.

"No, McCoy, you should take it. You've been on this ship longer than me, it's not in my place to take up a position that is rightfully yours--"

"Are you at all knowledgeable in physics or mathematics?" intervened Spock, staring down at her.

"Er, yeah, a bit, but--"

"Stop your jabberin', Chapel. You weren't Valedictorian for nothing. You were a astrophysics major for a year before transferring into med school, you're perfect for the job."

"Your experience in the science field is much more extensive than Doctor McCoy's, Doctor Chapel. I need a science officer until the Captain's return and you seem to fulfill the qualifications immensely." Christine knew Vulcans were not a race known to plead outwardly, but if there ever were in instance where one was, this had to be it. Spock's face was dispassionate, but she could tell that he was somewhat desperate for a break. She remembered McCoy mentioning his and Uhura's disastrous split-up a few weeks before. The sudden news of her with child must have had some sort of effect on his ego, if not Vulcan nature.

"Fine," Christine grumbled, defeated. "But don't expect me to be perfect."

* * *

A/N: Please don't think I did what I did to get rid of Uhura. I adore her, but I needed to find a way for Christine to be able to communicate with Spock on a regular basis, so...er, yeah...*hides from crowd with pitchforks and torches*


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: If I owned Star Trek, I'd buy a better computer, that's for sure. But considering that I am stuck with the crummy one I have now, I am not the owner of Star Trek. Bah.

A/N: Sorry, I meant to update this story a little earlier due to my sudden spark of inspiration returning, but was unable to due to my internet connection being out all day, so…Yeah. But the good news is that I was able to get much more writing done without musing on other things, so…Hoorah? So, please expect updated to be much more frequent than what they have been.

If it is of any comfort to anyone, I've finally a vague idea of where I want this story to go, and hopefully I will finish this fan fiction with the help of my wonderful reviews and readers; if I do finish it, I might break down and cry, because I've been writing for nearly eight years now but never had the gall to finish anything. And trust me, with that sort of weight on my shoulders, a milestone such as finishing this story would be absolutely tremendous.

By the way, the person who I envision playing Christine is Kristen Bell. Oh yeah. From Heroes…with Zachary Quinto. What? She's perfect. And short, which is another plus, heh. And they just look good together, gosh darn it. I'd have a heart attack if I heard she got the part for the sequel.

* * *

"Well thanks for _that_, McCoy!" bellowed Christine as they entered the privacy of the sickbay minutes later.

"What? I thought you'd like that, Chapel," answered the doctor with indifference as the automatic door shut beyond them. He turned off his computer for the night and watched Christine, whose back was faced towards him. She was obviously not too happy about the promotion.

She turned around swiftly to face him, her face red with anger and frustration. "You made me look like some sort of idiot up there, like I would take any job that would get me closest to the captain's chair!"

"Well, damnit Chapel, if I'd known you'd be this wound up over it, I'da never mentioned it in the first place."

"_Mentioned _it? You practically bullied me into it! How the hell would I have been able to say no to something like that, in front of everyone?"

"Loosen up, Chapel, it's only temporary," McCoy took a step towards her and reached out to her arm, as if to calm her down. "Look, I'm sorry--"

She quickly stepped backwards and put her hands up to level with her shoulders, as if to slap him away. She was definitely not in the mood to be touched at the moment. "Don't even think you can apologize your way out of this one," Christine answered furiously, turning off her computer with a loud _bang _when her fist pressed the shutdown button much harder than anticipated. She then made her way quickly out of the sickbay and to the nearest lift, much too furious to walk the long halls to her room on her own.

* * *

Spock entered his quarters and immediately sat himself at his computer after adjusting the temperature, increasing by fifteen degrees -- the damned engineers always changed the settings whenever they docked at a Starbase. The heat reminded him of his home planet, Vulcan, of the environment he was used to. As soon as it turned on, words flashed across the screen - _Starfleet captain takes leave due to fathering fellow officer's child; first Vulcan graduate appointed captain._

He had not expected the news to reach the Federation press as quick as it did, but was not wholeheartedly surprised -- something as scandalous as this was bound to make headlines fast.

The new captain leaned back in his chair, contemplating the unfortunate situation. He recalled how happy Nyota appeared with Jim, a sort of happiness that he had never sensed from her before. Spock supposed it was only a matter of time before something like this would happen, something reckless that the two Humans would contrive, leaving Spock alone, without one of his best friends and the first person he thought he was in love with.

He wished them well.

After all, what else could he do? It was not in his place to interfere, to dictate their actions. Being Human had its imperfections, and he would know -- he was half-Human, after all.

A sudden, painful feeling suddenly erupted at the pit of Spock's stomach, as if something had assaulted him. He had sworn never to think of the source of his partial humanity, his mother…not after what happened.

_He turned to her, realizing that the ground was going to disappear underneath their feet. But, he could not reach out to her -- he was frozen. Frozen in time, in space…frozen with fear? Fear. Such a human emotion, how dare he even think it? It was because of fear -- of his imperfection -- that he could not save his mother, the one person in his life that he knew he loved._

_Love and fear mingled in such an imaginable way that day; he had not seen his mother since his leaving Vulcan a little over five years before, a troubled youth, and the day of their reunion was ended with her falling into a deep ravine, never to be seen again._

_He remembered staring out of a window, breathless, watching his planet be sucked into a black hole, into oblivion. _

_Nothingness. His mother, along with nearly six billion members of the Vulcan race, were diminished, destroyed. It was as if she had never existed, except in the confines of his own extensive, but futile, memory._

_It was all his fault that she was never coming back._

He slammed his fiercely clenched fist on the desk, nearly knocking it over. His usually calm and indifferent demeanor had quickly disappeared, being replaced with a rash and distressful one.

Spock realized he needed to quickly revert his mind, and he knew hours of meditating would not assist him.

He tried to think of anything that would keep him from thinking of his losses…His father, the new Vulcan society being constructed by his alternate self…his new science officer? He resigned himself to the thought and decided that now would be an appropriate time to do his research, to validate that she was a proper choice for such a distinguished position.

Spock logged on to the Starfleet database and typed in her surname, Chapel, into the search engine. A couple of names, some of which he figured were members of her own family due to the resemblances, came up before hers. After a moment of scanning the list of results, he found a name, which he figured was hers, because the small summary underneath the link matched her description.

He clicked on the name and her profile came up. He read through it, making sure to make note of her strong points.

Born twenty-four years ago, Christine Emilia Chapel was an accomplished person of her years, to say in the least. She was practically born into Starfleet, with her father being an Ambassador on Andorian bases, and her mother an astrophysicist who was recently let go from her senior position at a Starfleet research center in Boston. She had one sibling, a younger sister, who was currently attending a civilian university. She had entered Starfleet at the age of eighteen, just after high school, and spent a year at the Starfleet Academy in San Francisco, studying astrophysics, before transferring on the eve of her sophomore year to medical school, where she spent five years of study.

At the end of the profile was an animated holograph dated about seven months ago, around the same time of the Nero situation, of her looking over lab reports with a pair of nauseatingly giant glasses perched at the end of her nose. She looked tired, with a human child, probably around three or four years of age, perched on her lap, animated as can be. They both had the same light blonde hair, nearly platinum, but the small child had energetic hazel eyes, while the older human had fatigued dark blue eyes that looked like they were much to heavy to keep open.

The profile said nothing about her being married or having a life partner of any kind, but since that was personal information that was irrelevant to Starfleet, he suspected it was left unnoted. He took another glance at the lively child, wondering how she was going to fair without her mother; this was a five-year mission, after all, and much of the little girl's childhood would be over with by the time she returned from the journey.

Suddenly, his thoughts turned to Kirk -- would he stay with Nyota, or would she raise the child on her own, or would she even find an alternative? Popular human methods of giving the child away including adoption, especially for those whose lives were preoccupied. Many parents who were involved with Starfleet had given up their children for adoption, so it was not relatively uncommon and would not be ultimately surprising if she turned it. But, Nyota seemed like the type who would not forget the child she had to give away, and Kirk was not one to let go of things easily either. Spock supposed the time will come when they would make their decision regarding the child, but now was much too soon to deliberate on the matter.

But he turned his thoughts back to his new second-in-command and after mere minutes of reading her résumé, he concluded that she was a proper replacement for himself, at least until the captain's return in approximately nine months' time.

Suddenly, he heard loud footsteps, obviously due to intense emotionality, walking down the same corridor that his quarters were located on. He had heard the source for a few moments now, just having departed from a lift, that, judging from the length of time in motion, had just come from the sickbay. He closed his eyes and tried to picture the hallway and who was drawing nearer and nearer with every second passing. The person was small in stature and was female, judging by the rhythm of the footsteps, and was young, probably in their early twenties.

He slowly approached his door so that his mind's eye could get a better description. A livid Christine Chapel walked past his door with a look of absolute fury upon her face, her eyebrows furrowing together, as if she was concentrating on something, with her fists clenched fiercely to her side, as if to keep her from lashing out at anyone whom she would cross paths with.

He suddenly wondered what was on her mind that caused her such outward rage.

* * *

Christine finally made it back to her room, having abandoned the lift after she judged it much too slow for her taste; she had forgotten that the one nearest the sickbay was still in the process of repairs and did not possess the high speed of the other elevators.

She slammed the door behind her, but it closed gracefully, lacking in the ferocity that she wanted.

She cursed McCoy and his big mouth, wishing she could just go back and time to decline the position of science officer and second-in-command. What kind of maniac would put her in charge of an entire department on a starship? She had just graduated from medical school, for God's sake, not someone who had spent four years training to be a bridge officer.

She fell on top of her bed and ran her hands over her face, exhausted with misery, feeling a headache beginning to form. Tomorrow was going to be her first day on the bridge, and she was sure that it was bound to be a disaster.

* * *

A/N: More action next chapter, I think? Ooh yeah. Maybe. We'll see. *wink* Reviews are what make the world go round. Just a little hint for ya.

By the way, if you want to listen to a highly addicting song that is so Spock/Christine (except for the vague mentions of pole dancing, lol) , go look up "Right Round" by Flo Rida. It's very catchy, haha.

Ok, I'm gonna take McCoy's advice from the previous chapter and quit my blabbering.


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: If I owned Star Trek, I'd sure as heck would not have as many internet connections problems as I have been having lately…

The elevator doors glided open with perfect precision, letting Christine step out of it almost as soon as she stepped inside. It was morning, about 0730 hours, and the bridge was quiet with tired officers who were all scanning their stations' screens, making sure that they were not looking over any sort of error.

The new captain was not there, but she did pass by the sickbay earlier that day and glanced in to see if McCoy was there and saw the two talking, looking as if they were engaged in some sort of argument. She had gotten the vibe that they were not on the best of terms, even after the big Romulan situation from half a year ago that had nearly risked everyone on board's lives. Christine had wanted to take the time to apologize to McCoy, because she had finally realized what the phrase "never go to bed angry" meant…she was up most of the night in contemplation, making her immensely tired, but reached the conclusion that she should not have lashed out like she did.

Christine quietly stepped up on the circular platform where the captain's chair was situated, surveying the bright white room until she found the empty seat in the back left corner, which she presumed was the science station, judging by the ever-changing graphs and numerous calculations that constantly appeared on the screen.

The bridge itself, though, was a sort of marvel on its own. It was one of the newest Starfleet designs, everything being very slick and clean-looking, unlike the bridges from the older ships that are wood-paneled and have monitors that barely even work half the time. The new bridge represented what Starfleet was supposed to be -- sufficient, but advanced.

Just as she was about to descend the small set of steps from the platform and seat herself at the station, she heard someone from behind her whom she was sure was most definitely not there before. "Is there a problem, Lieutenant?"

She turned around to find the new captain, Spock, staring down at her with his dark Vulcan glare.

"Er, no, none at all," she had forgotten that her official status on the ship was, at least for now, lieutenant since that was the minimum ranking allowed on the bridge. She took one long step towards her seat and sat down, scanning the screens, trying to make sense of it all.

Since she was a medical student, she was not required to complete the Kobiyashi Maru test, but had a small taste of it as a participant for a couple of students when she was still studying astrophysics in her freshman year. The simulator version of the science station was not too different from the real one, luckily for her, and it didn't take much time for her to realize what she was doing.

The morning was very quiet, with no sort of disturbance in sight. With the lack of action, Spock took the time to introduce the two helmsmen to Christine. "This is Lieutenant Chapel, our _temporary_," he seemed to stress the momentary status of her position, "science officer. She has taken up all of my duties, while I am captain, that is, until Captain Kirk returns from his leave."

He turned to Christine, leaving the two yellow-shirted men staring at her. "This is Mr. Sulu," he motioned to an attractive-looking Asian man, who gave her a swift nod in welcome, "And this is Mr. Chekov." The latter of the two helmsmen was a handsome young Russian whom Christine could not think of as anything else, other than adorable. The teenager gave her a brilliant smile that would definitely brighten up anyone's morning.

"Captain's Log, Stardate 2259.14," Spock noted, updating the log. "With Captain James Kirk's sudden leave-taking, as well as Lieutenant Uhura's, I, Commander Spock, have been appointed acting captain until the time comes when the former returns. We have replaced our communications officer with a graduate who minored in xenolinguistics while at the academy, an ensign by the name of Ronald Gallagher. Since I have taken the captain's place for the time being, I have given my science officer's duties to a qualified medical school graduate who has some experience in astrophysics, Lieutenant Christine Chapel. We are currently in the , which is about three light years from the nearest Class M planet, but because of our warp speed capabilities, regular Starbase visits will not be a problem. Spock out," the captain pressed one of the buttons on his chair to conclude the log.

"An asteroid belt, captain, at two o'clock," Christine noted aloud, "The likelihood of damage is about," she tilted her head to the side, doing the math in her head, "Two percent, too little to be worried of an impairment of any kind, but a ship tilt of about twelve degrees for the next three minutes is recommend to avoid it altogether."

"One-point-nine-two percent to be exact…Thank you, Lieutenant," answered Spock. He relayed the news to the awaiting Sulu. "Twelve degrees straight ahead, Mr. Sulu, for three minutes. Any interference, Mr. Chekov?"

"None, sir, zees rocks are smaller than zee palms of my hands."

"A shipwide broadcast is recommended, Mr. Chekov, to alert the personnel of our location."

"Aye captain," chimed Chekov, "Authorization code 9-5-_V_ictor, _v_ictor-2..."

"Access granted."

"…Can I have your attention please," the Russian addressed the ship via the intercom system. "We are currently in zee Dionysus XII quadrant and are averting zee ship by twelve degrees to avoid a small asteroid belt at two o'clock for a little over three meennuts. It is currently 0800 hours on our thirty-fourth day since our departure from Earth. Zank you for your time."

"Mr. Scott," Spock pressed his communication button to connect to the engineering room. "Decrease the engine power for a moment, please, we are entering an asteroid belt."

"Aye sir!" came the Scottish-accented reply of Montgomery Scott.

A brunette yeoman, who was coming around with a tray, handed Christine a cup of coffee. "Thanks."

Suddenly, the engines automatically slowed down, causing everyone to lurch forward and Christine to lose her grip on the steaming cup. Seconds later, the entire front of her shirt was covered in boiling liquid.

"Damnit," she muttered to herself. "Permission to speak freely, captain?" she looked up at Spock. He nodded. "May I leave the bridge to attend to a new shirt?" He didn't answer at first. She turned around, to show him that her the entire front of her torso was coffee-stained. "I won't be two minutes, sir."

"Mr. Chekov?" he turned to the helmsman. "Would you supervise Lieutenant Chapel's station while she is away?"

"Yes sir."

"Thank you," she said. Christine got up and immediately began to fan out her shirt as she walked towards the elevator lift. Seconds later, she was on the floor of her room and began to speedily make her way down the long corridor until she found her quarters.

"Hey stranger," called someone from behind her. Just as she opened her door, she turned to see McCoy.

"Hey yourself. Why aren't you down at sickbay?" she asked.

"Erm, break time," he winked.

"_Ha-ha_," she answered in sarcasm, rolling her eyes.

"What happened to your shirt?"

"I spilled some steaming coffee on it when the engines stopped…graceful of me, huh?"

"So…how are ya likin' it up there with the big boys?"

"It's not too horrible, it's just a lot of monitoring. The coffee's fresh, though, so that's a plus."

"Well I'll let ya get back to what you were doing, Chapel. I'll see ya around," McCoy smiled at her, which she gladly accepted as his way of making amends. The big brother was back, just as if their previous argument had never occurred.

"See you later, McCoy."

And all was well. Until she realized that coffee stains were virtually impossible to get out of polyester.

* * *

A/N: Yeah, she has like some sorta freaky cougar cradle-robbing crush on Chekov…but come on, who the heck doesn't? I mean, look at the kid! I'd be all over it if Spock wasn't there. Don't worry though, Christine/Spock shippers…it won't progress past a little teeny-weeny crush. Maybe a Chekov/OC will be stirring up in my mind later on, but not now. MUST. FINISH. STORY. AHHH.

Also, I know there was not much interaction with Spock, but I really needed her and McCoy to get back on their good terms again. It just didn't feel right with having a grudge between them, especially when there was still a lot of conflict between him and Spock.


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: God help us all if I owned Star Trek. haha.

* * *

Lunchtime, the bane of any new crewmember's existence, Christine mused as she juggled her tray in one hand with a bottle of purified Mars water in the other.

She had been on the ship for a little over a month now and still hated having to search for a place to sit. She spotted McCoy sitting in the back of the mess hall, at a medium-sized circular table, and immediately headed towards that direction.

As soon as she sat down, she saw McCoy slip something from a steel flask, into his sweet tea. She shot him a dangerous look. "You know alcohol consumption onboard, other than that provided by the mess crew, is completely illegal, right? You could get immediate suspension if someone saw that."

"Well, Chapel," he took a swig of the tea and swallowed, obviously comforted by the spirits, "No one's gotta know, do they?"

"Is this seat taken?"

McCoy immediately jumped at the sound of the acting captain behind him, immediately stuffing the flash into his pocket, hoping that the Vulcan would not notice.

"Bug off, you green-blooded--" But was interrupted by Christine kicking him in the knee underneath the table. She gave him a look that she hoped translated as revenge is sweet. "I mean…sure, have a seat."

A moment of awkward silence passed between the trio as Spock sat down.

McCoy coughed. "I gotta hologram from Jim earlier. He said him and Nyota are gonna head back to earth on the next shuttle."

"That is efficient, considering the lacking of medical personnel employed on starbases," noted Spock in his usual formality.

"Yeah, I guess she's still gotta tell her parents, and his mom and step dad…I'm sure they're gonna be just dandy when they hear bout all this," McCoy replied grimly.

"Hopefully everything will all work out in the end," said Christine, feeling slightly awkward because she was the only one of the three who were not on close terms with the expecting parents. She also noted that Spock was probably not too excited about the news, so she tried to be as neutral as possible.

"Uh, well, I'm gonna go…get some more tea," McCoy jumped up and in fact went to go sit with Scotty, who handed him another flask directly behind their captain's back. Christine could not help but roll her eyes in annoyance -- they knew of the possible trouble they could get into.

Christine lifted her bottled water up to her lips and took a drink so that it would give her an excuse for the sudden lack of conversation.

"Your offspring must be in decidedly good hands if you resolved to take part in such a long-term mission, Lieutenant," the Vulcan articulated as Christine took a sip of her water.

She swallowed quickly after she heard this. "My what? I don't have any children, captain."

"Then I must be mistaken; on your Starfleet profile, there is a child in the holographic with you."

"Oh, you must mean Naomi -- No, she's my sister's kid. I watched her a lot when Abigail, her mother, was in classes, so I'm not surprised she's in the picture."

"I apologize for my assumption."

"It's fine, anyone could make that mistake if they didn't know." She picked at the dry Orion lettuce in her salad and decided that a large amount of dressing would make it edible enough for her liking. She didn't touch anything else on her plate, though; her mother had come from a very nonconformist family that followed a vegetarian diet, and Mrs. Chapel wanted to pass the same rituals onto her own children; Abigail had dropped the eating habit when she was a teenager, but Christine managed to stick with it and was very glad, because many of the alien planets that she had visited her father on were vegetarian in nature.

She looked over at Spock's plate, and realized he only touched his salad also. She couldn't resist smiling; Vulcans were vegetarian too. But unfortunately she never harbored the chance to visit the arid but beautiful planet. Its sudden annihilation seven months prior had completely demolished the chance. So many lives lost in such little time; the catastrophic event saddened her. She could not even imagine what Spock had felt at the loss of his planet.

But, she suddenly remembered reading somewhere that a new colony was being built on a small, but habitable planet not far from Venus. An anonymous Vulcan had taken it upon himself to dedicate his life to the rebuilding of the near-extinct race. Christine wondered why Spock decided not to retire from Starfleet to aide in the rejuvenation; she knew that he was a very accomplished member of Starfleet, but on the inside she betted that there was some sort of longing he felt to help.

McCoy sat down again after nearly ten minutes of absence. "It's okay, don't worry, I'm back," he added sarcastically with his return.

Christine looked over at him and rolled her eyes, but smiled a little as she noticed Spock give him a look of rare perplexity.

* * *

Nearly three weeks after the start of her new post, Christine found out that the ship was going to enter the orbit of an uninhabited Class M planet by the name of Rutilus, named for its yellowish-red appearance. Its surface, according to her calculations (which, much to her annoyance, were constantly being checked over by the ever-precise Spock), was not unlike that of Mars -- rocky and desolate.

It was not until the morning of the Enterprise's arrival in the planet's orbit she was notified that she was assigned to participate in the examination of the surface. Her, along with three other crewmembers -- Spock, McCoy, and an ensign who specialized in xenogeography -- were going to beam down to the planet's deserted surface at 0900 hours and take soil samples for Starfleet's research databases.

"I don't see the damn point of me going down there," grumbled McCoy as he walked alongside Christine to the transporter room on Deck 6.

"Surface tremors are rather frequent on these sort of planets. Also, the ensign is inexperienced and there is also the possibility of an injury," explained Christine, who was tightening her utility belt that had a personal communicator attached to it.

"Yeah, well, it's the captain's own damn fault for sendin' the kid down there anyways," he complained.

Minutes later, they entered the transporter room where chief engineer Montgomery Scott was preparing the main console to beam them down onto the surface.

A red-shirted ensign was sitting on the edge of the platform, fiddling with his communicator. Christine groaned inwardly, annoyed; the young man looked no older than eighteen, nineteen at best. She hoped that his knowledge of alien geography outweighed his inexperience in the field.

"Mr. Scott, dissipate no time in beaming us down to Rutilus. It would be prudent that we reach the surface as soon as we are able," the Vulcan owner of the voice strode into the room and walked past McCoy and Christine, immediately ascending the platform. The doctor and first officer exchanged a glance and followed the captain, taking their places on the platform, followed by the young ensign.

"Alright then," Scotty called to them from behind the console. "It is currently 0900 hours and your return will be at 1200. We will be monitoring your frequencies. Alright?" A moment of silence passed. "Okay then…Energize," he said, pressing the buttons needed.

Suddenly, the transporter room that Christine was standing in suddenly disappeared and a completely different environment began to form around her, but instead of the white platform, she was now standing in the middle of an ocean of sand and rocks.

"Lieutenant? Doctor? Ensign Smith?" The three turned around to face Spock, who was scanning the data on his tricorder.

"According to the data, we are standing in the radius of a large encircling of mountains. It will take seventy-five minutes to walk to the edge of the gathering. Lieutenant Chapel, you will lead Ensign Smith and Doctor McCoy to the east and turn around when you reach the mountains. Meanwhile, I will go west and do the same. We will meet here half an hour before we are due to beam back up. If there any problems, use your communicator."

Christine nodded in understanding and watched as Spock turned his back to begin walking opposite of what she supposed was their assigned directions.

"I guess we should get moving," she said to the other two and began walking.

* * *

"…But the ex-wife, she's something else. It was like arguin' with a fence post…" McCoy went on, feeling that the long journey would be an appropriate time to discuss his divorce.

Christine took the time to go through her tricorder and note the geographical makeup of the planet, something the supposed xenogeography expert was not doing. Instead of doing his job, he was listening to McCoy's fascinating story on why you should never marry a freeloading, social ladder-climbing surgical assistant.

"We are going to reach a group of caves in a couple of minutes," she interrupted him about half an hour into the journey. "We can take a momentary break, since it's about midpoint to our destination."

"Good, we've been walking for ages," McCoy said.

Five minutes later, they reached the caves, which offered a decent amount of shade from the terrorizing sun.

Christine sat herself down on a rock at the edge of the shade and stared out into the horizon, searching for any sign of mountains. Suddenly, she spotted pointed peaks toward the direction they were walking. They were surrounded by dusty clouds that had previously kept the group (or Christine, rather) from noticing the mountains, making them virtually invisible to the naked eye.

"Chapel, take this. It'll keep ya from dehydrating. It's got some vitamins in it," McCoy threw her a flask. He turned to the ensign, who was eyeing the cave wall and was about to touch it, as if testing something. "Don't touch anything. God knows how old this cave is--"

Suddenly, the ground began to shake and small rocks began to fall from the sides of the cave. "Damnit, kid, I told ya not to touch anything!"

"McCoy, those are tremors!" Christine yelled to the doctor, eyeing the stone ceiling.

A loud roaring sound met the sudden collapse of the back of the cave, taking the ensign down with it.

"Smith!" McCoy called, and attempted to go after him.

Christine saw the section of the wall that McCoy was standing nearest was beginning to shake violently and he was too busy searching for the buried ensign.

She made a quick decision and decided against saving herself for once. With one quick glance towards the opening of the cave, she charged towards McCoy and threw her weight against him to get him out of the way of the soon-to-be disaster zone. McCoy was pushed two yards in front of her and she was pulled to the ground by the violent tremors. She shielded her face against the debris and did her best to cover her ears against the loud crashing of the rocks.

Almost as soon as it began, the quake ended and it was quiet, save for the deep breathing of McCoy, who was standing over her. Christine opened her eyes and tried to push herself up, but an immense weight on her bottom half was keeping her grounded. Her left leg was nowhere to be seen, nor could she even feel it. It wasn't until the shaking stopped that she realized it was buried underneath a bone-crushing boulder.

She groaned as she tried to pull her leg from underneath the rock, but was unsuccessful in the attempt. McCoy, who was frantically trying to lug it off of her leg, was also unlucky in his endeavor.

"Goddamnit, Chapel," he anxiously said in between breaths.

Her leg was numb and she realized that there was no way it was going to be free until the arrival of help. She looked up at McCoy through hot tears that began to form her eyes.

"Listen," she tried to keep herself together. She looked around for her tricorder, but realized it was crushed in the tremors. "Spock is about an hour west from hear. If you hurry, you may reach him sooner…Hurry, McCoy. This boulder needs to be moved soon or…I-I may never walk again. Now go!" She exclaimed, throwing her hand towards the west.

She watched as he raced out of the cave. Christine did her best to keep herself together, to keep herself from crying.

"God, please hurry, McCoy."

* * *

A/N: I hate this chapter, simply because I can't write action scenes to save my life.

By the way, reviews are pretty dandy :) Suggestions, as well as criticism, is wanted.


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek; if I did, Christine Chapel would be the main character of every book, film, and tv series in the franchise.

A/N: I have two picture links on my profile page that are manipulations by me from the story. Yes, they are ghetto, but too bad. :)

* * *

Spock knelt down to examine a small crack in the ground with his tricorder.

He turned around to find a very fatigued Leonard McCoy approaching him. It appeared as though he had been running at an immense speed for some time. Spock raised an eyebrow, wondering why he was not with the ensign and Lieutenant Chapel.

"Doctor, I do believe your party was making its way due east--"

"Chapel's hurt, Smith's dead…Some sorta earthquake," he managed to say in between deep breaths. "Her leg's crushed." For whatever reason Spock could not comprehend, the base of his throat felt as if it was swelling up.

"Doctor, are you not in the possession of a communicator that transmits to the ship--"

"Enough with the formalities, you green-blooded son-of-a-bitch! The damned communicator was destroyed in the tremors!" bellowed McCoy. "If we don't get back in time, there's a chance you may never see your science officer on the bridge again, and who the hell else knows how to decipher those damn stats?"

"If what you say is accurate, Doctor, then we would be sagacious to reach the Lieutenant very soon." Much to Spock's surprise, there was urgency in his own voice.

* * *

To keep herself sane and the gradual numbness that her leg was undergoing, Christine began to recite Earth's periodical table of the chemical elements. It was when she was stuck, trying to remember the element that came after polonium, that she heard McCoy's approach, this time followed by their Vulcan captain.

"Ya hangin' in there, Chapel?" he knelt down to survey her leg, which was still lifeless underneath the large rock.

"Yeah, fine, McCoy, just trying to recall the element that comes after polonium on the periodic table," Christine answered sarcastically, trying to disguise her gratefulness of his speedy return.

"Astatine," Spock answered, scanning the rock. He turned to McCoy. "Doctor, would you kindly stand back?"

McCoy obliged and took a step backwards, letting the Vulcan use his superhuman strength to move the boulder. Christine closed her eyes and began to hum to keep her mind off of her crushed leg. Moments later, she felt the enormous weight being removed from her leg and, unfortunately, the blood began to move back to the numbed section, causing her to regain feeling. Also, blood began to stream freely from a newly-discovered wound on her upper thigh, which was punctured by shards of rock. She squeezed her fists to keep her from screaming aloud in pain.

When she gained back her concentration, she found Spock stooped over her, scanning her leg with his tricorder. "The leg is broken, but not crushed. The problem is that you have dust fragments entering your bloodstream -- if we don't get you back to the ship soon enough, it could prove fatal." And with that, Spock immediately discarded his blue shirt, leaving only his black undershirt on. Christine was too dazed to understand what was going on. The poisonous dust was entering her system much faster than anticipated.

"What in the Sam Hill are you doing?" came McCoy's perturbed voice.

"Creating a tourniquet, doctor," he explained as he began ripping the blue polyester into long shreds. He then wrapped the seeping wound. "If we slow down the poison, we may get her back to the ship in time." Spock then pulled her right arm over his shoulder and stood up, bringing her up with him.

She shrieked loudly in pain, but was unable to procure the exact injury.

Christine felt McCoy bring other arm across his shoulder and supporting her other side. Her wounded leg was elevated, bent at the knee, while her free leg was barely touching the ground. Her eyes closed involuntarily and felt her head begin to droop, her neck unable to support it any longer.

Just as her breathing began to gradually cease, she could hear McCoy's anxiety clearly laced in his voice.

"Come on, Christine, hold on. You're gonna be fine."

Just as she heard the familiar sound of them beaming up to the ship, she lost all of her senses and succumbed into a unfathomable darkness.

* * *

"Time to wake up, sunshine," a familiar Southern twang echoed in her ears, making her head throb. She exhaled a low groan and began to open her eyes, only to throw her free arm over them to shield them from the brightness of the overhead lights.

She smiled weakly, realizing where she was. "Oh, am I in heaven? Oh, wait," she looked up at McCoy and sarcastically exclaimed in false horror. "You're here! This must be the _other _place!"

"Nope, even better. You're in sickbay."

"Here's the new bandages you asked for, Doctor," a pretty brunette approached the doctor and handed him a bundle of gauze. Christine sat herself up, adjusting herself into a more comfortable position. The nurse gave her a vibrant grin and Christine hesitantly returned the favor.

As his assistant walked away, Christine looked up at McCoy, who tried to look busy unwrapping the roll. "I see you had no trouble at all replacing me," she jested.

"Don't be jealous, Chapel, just because your substitute is a little bit prettier than you."

"A little? McCoy, she's the Audrey Hepburn of the 23rd century."

He lifted an eyebrow. "Who the hell's Audrey Hepburn?"

"Never mind…" she grumbled. Her mother's abundance of ancient refurbished holomovies was obviously not a common collection. "Anyways, what's the damage?"

"Sprained wrist, broken leg. Originally, it was dislocated, but I had to put it back once we got ya back here. You're pretty damn lucky, ya know. That life-sized gnome twisted your wrist when he pulled you up."

"How long have I been out…_Ow_!" She yanked her wrist away after he began to press down on it.

"Quit your complainin'," ordered McCoy, "A little suffering is good for the soul. Anyways, you've been out about two days."

"Two days!" she exclaimed, looking around. "But what about my post? They need someone up there to man the science station!"

"Hold your horses, Chapel. They've got an ensign takin' care of it and you're not gonna be up there for at least another week. I don't want you walkin' on that leg until the break's healed."

She groaned in annoyance and leaned back against her pillow, closing her eyes.

"Doctor McCoy, how is Lieutenant Chapel faring?" A very familiar voice was heard not far from where she was laying. Christine opened her eyes to find Spock walking towards her bed, with McCoy still bandaging up her wrist.

"She'd be better if you didn't nearly tear her wrist off, you pixie."

"McCoy," Christine interjected, immediately sensing their hostility for each other.

"Is there a possibility that I can speak with Lieutenant Chapel in private?"

"Not a chance in hell, you--"

"_Yes_, he can," interjected Christine, glaring at McCoy.

"Fine…Let me finish wrapping up your wrist."

"No, just go. I got it," she said, taking the roll in her uninjured hand. "Go, McCoy."

He sighed loudly and left the two bridge officers alone. A moment of silence passed between the two as Spock watched Christine single-handedly roll up her wrist.

"I apologize for injuring your wrist," he finally said, staring at it with his hands crossed behind his back. "It was unintentional."

"It's fine, it was either that or my leg would be gone," she said, smiling lightly, attempting to lessen the tension. "Thank you."

"There is no need to thank me for something I am obliged to do. You are an important member of the ship and it would be an indignity to lose your expertise. There are very few in Starfleet who are able to man the science station without any assistance." As he said this, she lifted the roll of bandages and tore off the excess with her teeth.

Christine took this as a compliment, something she never expected to come from a seemingly emotionally-invalid Vulcan. "Erm, thank you, captain."

For a moment, he looked as if he wanted to say something else, but after a few seconds he slightly bowed his head at her, notifying her of his leave-taking. "Lieutenant." He then turned, and walked out of the sickbay. McCoy, who passed him as he crossed the room, gave him a bitter look.

"What the hell was all that about," McCoy asked, examining Christine's clumsy handiwork with the bandages. "He looked a little uncomfortable."

Her eyes followed Spock leaving the sickbay. "I have no idea."

* * *

A/N: GAH, sorry this chapter is so short and it took a million years to write. I spent forever mulling over it and decided to just submit it. Don't worry, it's gonna get good in the next few chapters. A couple of twist and turns are coming your way... Remember to look at my pictures on my profile and tell me if you like them.


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: If I owned Star Trek, Leonard Nimoy and Zachary Quinto would be tied up in my basement. But I don't have a basement. So, there you go.

* * *

Christine sighed in boredom, for what seemed like the millionth time that day, as she watched the various nurses walk back and forth, carrying metal trays and filling out the ever-present paperwork that was required for a sickbay. It was her fifth day as an invalid, but it still wouldn't be until another forty-eight hours until her discharge.

She pondered what was going on around her in the sickbay, wondering what other people on the ship were doing, above on the bridge and below in the engineering room. She constantly worried about the ensign that had taken over her position temporarily at the science station, hoping that they were doing even half as well as they were expected.

As she leaned back against the pillows stacked accordingly against her stiff back, Christine, for some ungodly reason, began thinking about Roger.

Roger.

The very thought of his name sent a strange tremor through her body, making her nauseas. The last she heard, he had broken up with his assistant and took a higher-up position at Starfleet as a surgeon on some starbase. She had no idea why, though. Roger Korby was a social butterfly who fed on the insecurities of others, which was probably how Christine ended up with him in the first place.

When they first met, he was her medical archeology instructor two years prior, when she was halfway through her third year in medical school. She looked up to him and saw him as the older brother she never had, the smart and charming man that she always envisioned would be her Prince Charming when she was a child. Before the term was over, they began dating and it wasn't long until Christine realized that this was more than a casual relationship.

He made her feel something, but whatever it was, it wasn't love. Lust, perhaps, maybe even idolization, but not love. The moment she realized that Roger wasn't 'the one', she made a vow to herself that she would never let a man get in the way of her ambitions, no matter what.

Christine opened her eyes as she sensed McCoy's presence cross the room. He was leaning against a medical cart, laughing with the same nurse that had handed him the bandages when she had first woken up. Christine smiled; the nurse, whose name was Tonia Barrows, was a kind woman about a year older than Christine, with light brown hair that possessed slight tinge of auburn, matching profoundly with her hazel eyes. She had noticed that McCoy seemed much more at ease whenever she was around and the same with her.

Christine smiled and closed her eyes once more, allowing them their privacy. Once again, her light chuckling was met by his boisterous laughter; one of them had obviously made an amusing remark.

Suddenly, her thoughts turned to Captain Kirk and Lieutenant Uhura. By now, the latter would be halfway through her second month of pregnancy, perhaps even on the eve of her third. She sincerely hoped that Kirk was able to obtain a stable position in Starfleet, perhaps as an instructor, until his child was born and he would be able to recommence his title as captain. She wondered what Uhura would do with the baby -- if she decided to keep it, a research position would be obtainable, just as Christine's own mother had done to stay close to the family. With the lieutenant's astounding knowledge in linguistics, she would be a viable member of any research team.

She then began to wonder what would happen when Captain Kirk returned. Obviously, Spock would be restored back to his rightful position as second-in-command and Science Officer and Kirk would take up the Captain's chair once more; and where would that leave her? She supposed that her place would go back down to the sickbay and continue what she had originally been placed down there to do -- research and assist McCoy. And then, the Five Year Mission that was planned would continue, and all would be well.

But, for a moment, Christine couldn't help but wonder why she felt so strange about the prospect of not being on the bridge anymore.

* * *

"Alright, careful, careful!" McCoy cautioned as he helped Christine out of her hospital bed, her uninjured arm anchored on his shoulder while her sprained wrist was wrapped in white bandages in a sling, just for precaution. It would be another week or so before she gained full usage of her wrist again, but she was determined that she would be able to handle the science station on her own until then.

Christine, whose leg was now completely mended, stretched, obviously very stiff from staying in bed for a full week without any sort of exercise. As she walked to the small bathroom connected to the sickbay with her uniform in hand, she limped slightly. When she finally got out of the uncomfortable scrubs that she had been wearing all week, was freshly showered, and back in her mandatory blue shirt and black pants, she felt normal again, happy even. Once she looked in the mirror of the sink, she was back to her old self, save for her right sleeve that was pushed up to stay out of the way of the sling.

She held her boots in her left hand and elbowed the button that made the door automatically open, deciding that it would be best if she had more room to put on her shoes. She crossed the room and sat down on the middle hospital bed, taking care to mind her recently mended leg and still sprained wrist. After about three minutes of fiddling with the straps, she had her shoes on and stood up.

McCoy, who had just entered the room with two cups of steaming coffee, handed her one of the them. "Better drink up now. You don't want to ruin your uniform on that bridge anymore. They'll think you're just lookin' for a reason to miss out on the excitement," he told her lightheartedly as she took a sip.

"Oh, you're original," she jeered at him, smiling. She glanced at the holoclock on a desk nearby and immediately downed as much coffee as she could without burning her tongue. "I've gotta go, I'm ten minutes late."

She handed him the half-full cup of coffee and made her way to the sickbay entrance, trying to remember where the fastest elevator lift that immediately transported to the bridge was located.

"Mind that wrist, Chapel!" McCoy called after her.

* * *

"Approaching starbase, Captain," Sulu called to Spock.

Christine had made it back to the bridge earlier that day and happily relieved the ensign who had temporarily taken her place. Apparently, so was Spock, because the substitute barely had any idea what half of the buttons on the post were for. As soon as she had seated herself, she sensed that Spock looking over at her for a moment or two longer than usual, but she didn't acknowledge it, thinking it was probably having to do with her tardiness of ten minutes. She hoped to avoid any sort of issues on her first day of returning.

They were due for a maintenance checkup at a starbase. It would only be moments until they would be parked and locked into the base's systems, rendering them the ability to take a few hours of shore leave.

Christine scanned the numbers on the multiple screens in front of her, determining the constants. "Oxygen levels are steady, sir."

"Prepare for docking, Mr. Chekov. Disengage the inertial dampener. Enable the parking rig, Mr. Sulu," commanded Spock.

After about thirty seconds, Sulu announced, "We are docked in Starbase 89, Captain."

"Very well. Mr. Scot?" Spock called the Engineering room.

"Aye, sir?"

"Prepare the shuttles for transportation, we are at port."

"Aye, sir."

"Lieutenant Chapel, would you kindly accompany me to the starbase? It is Starfleet regulation for the second-in-command to assist the Captain."

"Yes, sir." Christine automatically answered and turned to auto-control her station. "Chekov, would you please keep an eye on my post? It shouldn't be of any use at the moment, but just to be sure…" She asked the Russian helmsman.

"Gladly, Lieutenant," he replied and turned back to his own station.

Christine stood up and crossed the room to follow Spock into the elevator lift. When they entered, he entered the code to the boarding floor, where the shuttles were stored and currently being enabled for use. When the doors closed, she noticed that he looked over at her momentarily, just like he had earlier that day. Again, she said nothing, and continued to face forward.

"Your return is much welcomed on the bridge, Lieutenant."

She looked over at him. "You've previously mentioned it, Captain." After saying this, she mentally chastised herself because Spock said nothing in return, making the tension in the lift dense. She had a bad habit of rendering people virtually speechless. She knew that he was a Vulcan and that is was very difficult for him to verbally express himself; she had definitely not helped him in that respect.

"You can call me Christine," she said after a long silence.

"Excuse me?" He asked, as if he had not heard the question. She knew this was impossible, due to his superior hearing that was natural for a Vulcan, but didn't press him on it.

"Christine. You can call me by my first name."

"That would be inappropriate, Lieutenant." There was tension in his voice.

"Inappropriate? But you and Captain Kirk were on first name terms, if I remember correctly."

Another moment of silence.

"How is your wrist?"

She looked down at her right wrist and examined it briefly, stretching out her fingers. "Much better, thanks."

"I am grateful to hear it, Christine." They exchanged eye contact briefly before he continued to look forward. She noticed that his shoulders seemed to loosen up slightly, as if he had been carrying a chip on it for the past few hours.

She smiled to herself…And, for some unidentifiable reason, wanted him to speak to her more.

* * *

Starbase 89 was a moderately-supplied base located not far from the planet Tellar Prime, an inhabited Class M planet that was a member of the Federation of Planets. Spock and Christine were accompanied by half a dozen red-shirted security officers.

Once they were able to notify the flag officer of the Enterprise's arrival, Christine alerted the ship of their temporary shore leave. "All crewmembers and personnel are to report back to the ship at 1730 hours. Our departure time is scheduled for 1800 hours."

Spock notified her of her shore leave also, letting her know that her duties as second-in-command were temporarily banded. She was glad to hear this and went off to find a holocommunication room, hoping that there was not a long line of crew members trying to contact their families. Keeping in mind her fellow officers, she knew that she had to be brief.

Luckily for her, the room was empty, save for the circular platform that was almost like a miniature transportation pad. She approached the console that stood in front of it and entered her family's address, and waited for a moment for the computer to read. A solitary beep confirmed its validity.

Suddenly, a hologram appeared on the platform. "Hello?" An attractive young woman who had Christine's same shade of blonde hair was looking at her.

Christine smiled. "Hey, Abby."

Abigail, her younger sister, suddenly let out a loud shriek. "Christine! Oh my God, I'm so glad to see you! What the hell happened to your arm?"

"Oh…Long story. You should have seen me a week ago," Christine answered, but decided to drop the conversation when she saw the concern in her sister's eyes. "Where's mom and dad? And Naomi?"

"Mom's right here…Dad's gone, as usual. He came home the other weekend. I wish he'd just retire, because the Andorians are really stressing him out. Naomi's at daycare…Mom, mom!"

"What is it, Abigail?" answered an unseen voice from the kitchen. "I'm in the middle of peeling potatoes."

"Come talk to Christine! By Christine, I've got to go pick up Naomi, love you." Abigail walked out of the room.

Suddenly, her mother rushed into the room. "Christine! Baby, how are you? Your arm!"

"I'm fine, mom, really, it's just a sprain. It'll be fine in a week. We just arrived at Starbase 89..."

"I heard about your promotion…Your father is so proud! Science officer? And to think, you've just graduated!" Her mother was in awe at the fact. Her bright blue eyes were sparkling with pride.

"Yeah, I know, mom. Listen, I don't want keep anyone waiting, so I'm gonna go. I love you, tell dad I'm fine. Send everyone my best wishes."

"Okay, babe. Please contact us whenever you reach your next Starbase. We miss you so much."

"I miss you too. I love you…Bye."

"Bye, Christine," her mother said, blowing her a kiss.

The hologram then disappeared, leaving Christine standing in the middle of the holocommunication room, alone. She sighed and pulled out her communicator to check the time setting.

"Your family is just as dysfunctional as I remember it. Is your sister still trying to sucker some guy into marrying her so she could finally support that brat of hers?"

Christine immediately turned at the familiar voice. She found a familiar man leaning in the doorway, with the same emotionless grey eyes and slicked-back silver-blonde hair as she had remembered. She tightened her left fist, keeping in mind her invalid wrist, and spoke to her ex-fiancé, careful not to let her overbearing anger bleed through.

"What the hell are you doing here, Roger?"

He answered her with a smug smile as he took a step toward her. "You're just as witty as I remember."

* * *

A/N: Ooh yeah. Drama, drama.


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: Was two numbers off from winning the lottery last night, so I could have owned Star Trek. Instead, we won 150 dollars...so...that's worth a box set or two, I suppose?

A/N: WARNING! VERY SHORT CHAPTER AHEAD.

* * *

"I almost didn't recognize you without those specs you used to sport," Roger commented with a smirk.

"At least I'm not screwing my co-worker," she retorted as she pushed past him, heading for the door.

"I wouldn't be too sure, Christine. I hear you're second-in-command...I wonder how you got that position?"

"Go to hell."

"Wait a minute, Chris," he said, grabbing her arm. His violent grip was cutting off the circulation in her arm, causing Christine to bite her lip to keep from shouting out.

"Don't--" she yanked her arm away from him. "Don't touch me Roger," and continued toward the door, walking faster this time.

"Don't walk away from me, Christine," his voice was now demanding. It was when she was aggressively spun around to face him that she began to feel a little frightened. A horrible feeling began to erupt at the pit of her stomach, as if knowing that this conversation was not going to end well.

With Roger's grip numbing her arm, he took a step towards Christine. "I miss you, babe. It's a real shame you left."

"Roger, I'm warning you, get the hell away from me," Christine said, looking down at her shoes and clutching her uninjured fist, trying to not let her anger overtake her. "Now."

"Oh, come on--" pleaded Roger, who was now using both of his hands to grip her arm.

To Christine, everything around her seemed to slow down as she brutally reclaimed her arm and immediately balled up her hand in retaliation, and before she even realized what she was doing, her fist met with the crevasse between his nose and right cheek, followed by a loud cracking noise.

When she had finally came back to reality, Christine saw Roger clutching at the right side of his face, blood pouring between his fingers to the ground. He finally fell to the ground, yelling obscenities. She was breathing deeply now and looked down at him. "I warned you, Roger. Stay the hell away from me. I never want to see you again."

And with that, she stepped over the injured man and walked out the room, quickly striding down the long communications hallway towards the hangar that housed the Enterprise. She squeezed the hand she had hit Roger with, trying to block out the painful throbbing it was now undergoing. It was beginning to bruise, but she hoped that it would fade within the next hour when she was due to report back for duty.

The last thing Christine needed at the moment was a reminder of what she was determined to keep buried in the past.

* * *

Spock strode through the corridor of the ship's primary hull with his usual stiff gait. He had just returned from main engineering to discuss the condition of the nacelles' ability to maintain warp drive.

After supervising the refilling the warp core of the main energy reactor with a healthy amount of dilithium crystals to sustain at least six months worth of warp speed, Montgomery Scott had excused himself to take his shore leave. Spock, who had already alerted the flag officer of the ship's arrival, saw no need in having to take his temporary sabbatical, due to the fact that he felt he had no need that could not be attended to on the ship.

As he passed the glass divide between the corridor and sickbay, he noticed that someone was sorting through some medical supplies, with solvents and gauzes piled on top of the examination table, while the small blue-shirted inquirer was squatting on the ground their back to him, digging through a box. He recalled passing Doctor McCoy and Nurse Barrows on the way back to the ship, but he did not think that they were rushing to return.

Suddenly, the person in question stood up and Spock realized it was Lieutenant Chapel; her sling was off, but her hand was still in a turban of bandages. She picked up a bottle and looked at it briefly before unscrewing the cap. She then lifted up her opposite hand and began pouring the liquid onto it, wincing. After a moderate amount of the fluid had coated her left knuckle, she pulled out a cotton ball from a small jar and began to scrub at her unbandaged hand, as if she was cleaning it.

Becoming quite inquisitive, Spock pressed the button that opened the automatic door into the sickbay. Something was clearly wrong with his second-in-command, and he was determined to find out what it was. As captain, the well-being the crew, after all, was his responsibility.

"Are you well, Lieutenant?"

She had obviously not heard his entry, because she spun around, knocking a package of bandages from the examination table to the ground.

"What are you doing here?" She didn't even bother addressing her commanding officer as captain, much too alarmed by his sudden appearance. She was now clutching her left hand away from his view.

"I was making my way to the bridge when I noticed your apparent eagerness in your search for medical supplies. What are you doing here, Lieutenant Chapel? I thought I dismissed you for leave."

She didn't answer him, but instead continued viciously rubbing her knuckle with the clear solution.

"As your commanding officer, I demand you answer me." His voice turned demanding and it seemed to strike a chord in her, making her shoulders twitch slightly.

"There is nothing to talk about." It was when she said this that Spock realized her hands were shaking, though the indifferent expression on her face remained, with her jaw slightly clenched. He finally gained a good look at her left hand, whose knuckles were turning dark purple due to external bruising. His mind suddenly inquired the origin of her most recent injury.

"Why did you not go to the infirmary? There is one on every Federation mandated starbase--" He explained, but was interrupted mid-sentence.

"I know, my father spent my entire childhood living on starbases," she replied irritably, not bothering to even look up at him. She then paused for a moment. "I wanted privacy."

He did not know what to say to this. After a moment of contemplating silence, he finally spoke. "How did you injure your hand?"

"I thought you'd remember when you nearly ripped it off on Rutilus, or whatever the name of that hellhole was." Spock knew that she knew that was not what he was referring to. She obviously wished to evade the topic.

"I am referring to your left hand. It was not injured when you left the ship."

A moment later, Christine threw down the cotton ball that she was dabbing her left hand with in frustration and looked up to the ceiling, putting her bandaged hand to her forehead, pinching the bridge of her nose. Her back was still facing him, but Spock knew all too well that she was very upset about his acquiring on the subject.

He then decided to let her be and turned towards the exit of the sickbay. As his hand reached for the button that opened the door, Spock heard her speak in a low whisper.

"You know...It's strange that no matter how vast this universe is, you could run into the one person you hoped to never see again."

* * *

A/N: I would certainly like to reach 100 reviews. Hint, hint.


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: I still don't own Star Trek. If I did, I'm sure all of this would be much easier to write.

* * *

"Excuse me, Lieutenant?" came Spock's unusually perplexed reply.

Christine was staring down at her bruised knuckle, with her back still turned to the Vulcan captain. It was not until he said this that she realized that she had been thinking aloud. She turned around to face him.

"It's nothing. Well…" she bit her lip for a moment in contemplation, deciding whether or not to go through with this and tell her commanding officer about her situation. "Sir, have you ever heard of Doctor Roger Korby?"

"He is an accomplished medical archeologist, is he not? Yes, he was in my graduating class at the Academy. His duel credit in both medicine and military duties was quite unheard-of. I believe he went on to instruct at the adjoining medical school."

She sighed. "Yes, he did. When I was in my third year at medical school, he taught my Advanced Xenophysiology class. Unfortunately for me, I found something endearing in him and it wasn't long until we were…" she gulped, knowing that sharing personal information with her captain was not usually permitted. "Together."

"It is logical to assume that your companionship did not outlast your admittance onto the Enterprise," concluded Spock, eyeing her.

Christine nodded and continued. "We were a couple for about a year when he decided we should get married. Against my mother's sound judgment, I accepted the proposal and thought that everything would be…perfect." Her mouth twitched at the final word. "It was six or seven months from my graduation at the medical academy that I happened to walk in on Roger and his assistant, together." Though Christine did not go into explicit detail, she could tell Spock knew what she was implying, that Roger and his assistant were not meeting up to play a game of Chinese checkers.

"After that, I broke off the engagement and after my graduation, I chose to join a starship that was going away on a long-distanced mission so that I could escape my former life and the mistakes that I had made. For some reason, it felt like I had to seek redemption, from my family at least. They knew that Roger was not good for me, that he would cause problems, but I didn't listen. And after ignoring them, I come face-to-face with the monster that they had seen all along. That's why I'm here, I suppose, on this Five Year Mission. To prove to my family that I can overcome what he did to me. After you dismissed me for leave today, I ran into Roger. As it turns out, he's stationed here. We had a little…altercation." Spock's expression immediately turned concerned. "It's fine, he knows I don't like to be grabbed at, and he paid the price."

She didn't elaborate and he didn't question her any further.

After a moment of silence, he said, "You know that you do not have to redeem yourself to your family, Lieutenant. I think that you feel that you must prove your worth to yourself instead of to those around you. You know that you are a proficiently skilled officer, and I see that everyday on the bridge. After Doctor Korby's duplicity, you condemned yourself. You did not deserve his betrayal, but you won't allow yourself to realize that," Spock explained.

And a moment later, the piece that seemed to be missing in the back of Christine's mind connected itself, allowing her to finally understand that what she had been fighting all along was, in fact, herself.

"Lieutenant? Are you well?" Spock asked, staring down at her mixed expression of disbelief and resolution.

She smiled, realizing that he was speaking to her. She looked up at him. "You know, you would make an unbelievably excellent psychologist."

Spock looked at her confoundedly, unaware that his input had triggered an epiphany in Christine.

"It would be inappropriate for a member of the Vulcan race to sort out the emotional dealings of Humans, Lieutenant. My scholarly focus at the Academy was computer programming." If she didn't know that he was being completely serious, Christine would have laughed. She had to admit that Spock was rather amusing, even though it was not in his Vulcan nature to be so.

"Er, Chapel, are we interrupting anything?" Came McCoy's confused voice from the sickbay entrance, just behind Spock. Standing next to McCoy was Tonia, who was carrying a shopping bag from the small convenience store that every starbase housed.

Just before Christine was about to answer, Spock quickly replied, "No, Doctor, I was just assisting Lieutenant Chapel. Excuse me," he then walked past McCoy and exited the sickbay.

"What the hell was all that about?" asked McCoy as he watched the automatic door close behind Spock. He then looked down at her bruised hand. "And what the hell happened to your hand? How much more shenanigans can ya get into in a week, Chapel?"

Christine sighed. "It's nothing, I just…" she quickly thought up an excuse. "Tripped."

"Well, you're a horrible liar, but I'll let it go. You should get up to the bridge, Chapel, it's gettin' close to departure."

"Sure," she said, immediately throwing all the discarded medical supplies on the examination table back into the footlocker, not caring much for once if it was unorganized; McCoy would just have to deal with it late, she supposed. "You're out of hydroquinone syrup, by the way," she noted as she snapped the box shut and kicked it underneath the table.

"Good to know," he acknowledged uninterestedly, still staring at Christine with a puzzled look in his eye.

Just before the door closed behind Christine as she walked out of sickbay, she could have sworn she heard McCoy say to Tonia, "I swear, there's something goin' on between them two. Who the hell hangs around a sickbay when they're on leave?"

* * *

Christine stared at the ceiling of her quarters. It was nearing midnight and yet she had no desire to sleep. It was the second day after the Enterprise had departed from the starbase and she had a very serious dilemma on her hands -- she was charged with a court martial after word reached the flag officer's ears about her little run-in with Roger. She was now being charged with assault after breaking his cheekbone and dislocating his nose, rendering him incapable from service for the next few weeks, perhaps even a full month.

She was due to appear for her hearing at Starbase 154 in a week. She knew that she would be found guilty; the odds were definitely against her and Roger did have a lot of friends high places. She had spent the entire evening contemplating her fate. Would she be demoted? Or even expelled from Starfleet? The former thought was definitely much more welcomed than the latter.

When Spock had called her into the conference room connected to the bridge to give her the news earlier that day, she sensed a sort of apprehension in his tone, but dismissed it as disappointment. She remembered his hands were tightly pinned behind his back, his shoulders hunched forward, making her rather nervous herself. His lack of eye contact was alarming. She knew he was not happy with her actions.

She remembered that she did not explicitly tell Spock how Roger paid the price for grabbing her. He probably just assumed that she had pushed him, or even slapped him at the most.

Christine ran her left hand through her hair, distraught.

She suddenly yearned to disappear.

* * *

Spock opened his eyes. He was lying in his quarters in the early hours of the morning, in absolute darkness, save for the holoclock that displayed the time.

For some unimaginable reason, he was sweltering. It was a strange feeling and he immediately rejected it, pushing himself from his bed and headed towards the temperature device near his door. He then did something he never imagined ever doing -- he turned up the air conditioning, making the room cooler with every passing second, freezing even. The feeling of assurance was welcoming to Spock, making him much more comfortable, but it did not cease another issue.

Why was he shaking? His hands were uncontrollable, as if they were experiencing a constant jolting that was not due to conclude in the near future.

He had not eaten in past two days, since they had left the starbase, but he had just contributed it to a normal occasional lack of appetite. And, for some reason, he had a strange feeling lingering in the back of his mind, something he hated to admit, but was not unlike that of anxiety, a Human emotion.

Suddenly, his mind turned to the obvious conclusion, which revolted him.

No, he thought to himself. He must be spared from this.

* * *

It was a quiet morning, allowing Christine to doze off in her seat without anyone else noticing. She barely gained any sort of sleep from the night before, her mind much too busy to even think about rest. Spock seemed certainly preoccupied, so he did not turn to her for any sort of second opinion.

Just as she closed her eyes, hoping to sneak in a few minutes of sleep before lunch, a yeoman tapped her on the shoulder, handing her a PADD that Christine needed to proofread and sign before handing it to the captain.

"Thanks," she grumbled, and quickly read through the memo, nodding her head every few seconds. She then scribbled her signature and got up, using her chair to steady herself due to her immense fatigue.

She approached the captain's chair, where a contemplating Spock sat, his chin clenched tightly as it sat upon his propped hand. "Sir?" She had to repeat herself before he turned around to find her standing with the digital memo in her hand. She handed it to him and he quickly took it from her and signed, not even bothering to read through it like she had done. This action alerted Christine; she knew that Spock practically memorized every memo before signing it, looking for any sort of reason to upstage her judgment. He then practically threw the PADD back at her and swiftly turned back to the main view of the bridge.

Something was wrong with him, she thought. There had to be.

She handed the PADD back to the yeoman and sat down, glaring at Spock's turned head.

A few minutes later, the midday meal buzzer rang over the intercom, and the assigned ensigns immediately entered the bridge to take the places of the official bridge officers.

"Anything been happening?" asked her replacement.

"No," Christine said, barely acknowledging the ensign as she stared at the disgruntled Spock. He seemed to be having a slight disagreement with his temporary substitute. "Nothing at all."

Just as she headed for the elevator lift, Spock seemed to nudge her rather aggressively out of the way. He entered the lift and the automatic door closed quickly. Christine waited a few more moments until the lift came back up. She was very irritated with her commanding officer's actions and as soon as she exited the lift, she walked quickly, hoping to catch up with him.

Finally, she spotted him, taking a turn that was opposite of the direction of the mess hall. She stood and watched him for a moment, while the other officers made their way to lunch.

"Captain!" she called after him in a tone that was filled with exasperation.

He did not slow down nor acknowledge her calling after him, so she swiftly followed him, determined to catch up with him. She finally did so and as soon as she was neck-to-neck with him, she repeated herself.

"What is it, Lieutenant?" He asked, staring blankly ahead.

"Permission to speak freely sir?"

He nodded stiffly, not looking at her.

"Alright, forgive me, but…What the _hell_ is wrong with you?"

_

* * *

_

A/N: Yes, I watched Amok Time this morning and decided to actually go through with this.


	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer: Oh, trust me, the world will know the moment that I am in possession of the marvelous franchise that is Star Trek.

A/N: You know when you haven't the slightest idea on how to write something and a character practically takes it upon themselves to lead the way? Yeah, Christine's done with Spock's nonsense.

* * *

Spock still would not look at Christine. "I do not know what you are referring to, Lieutenant." He sped up his pace, gaining the lead.

Irritated with his pretended ignorance, she caught up and stepped in front of him, blocking his way. Despite that fact that he was about a foot taller than she was, she was glaring up at him furiously, not afraid to exchange a few harsh words with her commanding officer.

"Don't play stupid with me, Spock," she said, fuming. This was the first time she ever referred to him by his first name in his presence, but her informality did not stop her from giving him a piece of her mind. His expression remained blank and emotionless, just as always. He immediately secured his hands tightly behind his back, just as he had done the day before in the conference room. "It isn't everyday when your Vulcan captain practically manhandles you."

She continued. "I've endured your constant correction, not to mention your inability to emotionally react to anything! Every possible annoyance that you have enacted on the crew, I've silently stood by without complaint! But not now, sir. I'm done!" She was practically standing on the toes of her boots at an attempt to be leveled with him.

Suddenly, Spock's eyes flashed from the usual calm and immediately became the unfamiliar storm. His shoulders began to tense up and she heard his a slight crack that she assumed was his clenched hands behind his back, as if trying to restrain yourself. "Lieutenant, you are dismissed."

For a moment, she just stared up at him. "Is that it, then? You are not even going to confide in your first officer what the hell is going on with you?"

"Lieutenant--"

"You really are heartless, aren't you?" she concluded. "You have no trust in anyone. That's probably why Lieutenant Uhura left you for Captain Kirk anyways." She then turned to leave. Suddenly, just as she was about to start walking away, two strong hands grabbed her shoulders and spun her around halfway, immediately violently pinning her to the wall. When she gained the courage to open her eyes moments later, there was Spock, inching closer towards her. Suddenly, he seemed to realize what he was doing and pushed himself away from her, against the opposite wall.

"What the hell…?" she barely managed to mutter, her breath only just returning. She backed up, rubbing her shoulder with her unbandaged hand. If he had tried any harder, her shoulder blades would have been easily dislocated.

"I…I'm sorry…" Spock apologized in a rushed voice, practically pleading. He held up his right hand, as if to keep her away from him. She slowly backed away from him staring at him in confusion.

"Captain…Are you alright?" she could not help but ask the Vulcan who, only moments before, seemed bent on tearing her to pieces.

He didn't look at her. "You are dismissed," he tiredly repeated his previous notion. He then began to walk away, gaining speed with every passing second, leaving a very bewildered Christine behind.

* * *

"McCoy!" Christine called as she dashed into the sickbay.

Leonard McCoy was reading a PADD. He looked up at her a moment later. "What is it, Chapel? Those bandages of yours aren't going to be cut off until the end of the week, I thought I told you--"

"Something's wrong with Captain Spock." She immediately said, not wasting time.

"Tell me something I don't know," he answered, looking back down at the PADD once more, clearly not sensing the direness of the situation at hand.

"I'm being serious, McCoy."

"So am I," he said, putting down the small device shortly after signing it.

"Then tell me…is it normal for a Vulcan to nearly wring off the neck of their second-in-command?"

"He WHAT?" McCoy roared. "Where the hell is that hobgoblin, I'll--"

"Calm down, McCoy. I've already told you, something's wrong with him. He wouldn't normally do something so rash, trust me. I think you need to check his vitals or maybe even conduct a physical."

"I'll check his vitals, alright," McCoy grumbled. "He'll be lucky to still be breathin' after I'm done with that son-of-a--"

"McCoy, please. I need you to do this," she pleaded. "I think something is seriously wrong with him. Please."

McCoy stared at her for a few silent moments before agreeing. "Alright, I'll take a look at him. He's due for his physical anyways."

Christine sighed in relief. She was more than curious to know what was causing Spock to act so reckless.

* * *

Spock banged his fist on the small button outside of his quarters, causing the automatic door to open. As soon as the door closed behind him and he was surrounded by the safe, sturdy confines of his accommodations, he looked around, dazed at the actions he had just committed against his first officer.

Suddenly, just as it had been throughout the morning, his hands began to shake tremendously. He reached for the small temperature device on the wall, once again shifting the small lever to the coldest setting. He then trudged to his computer and sat down, realizing the decision that had to be made. He turned on the monitor and typed in the bridge communication code.

"Communications?"

"Yes, Captain?" The ensign replacement answered.

"I am appointing Lieutenant Chapel as acting captain for an unspecified amount of time. Notify her of my decision when she returns to the bridge."

"Yes sir," the ensign answered unquestionably.

"Spock out." The screen then went blank, leaving Spock to his own thoughts. He leaned back in his chair and gripped the arms tightly, doing his best not to lose control…not yet.

Suddenly, his monitor came back on. "Captain," McCoy's usually gruff voice matched the impatient expression on his face. "Your physical is due. I have you scheduled for an appointment in the morning, at 1100 hours.

"Doctor, I am in maximum physical condition. I am in no need of--"

"Enough of your excuses, it's Starfleet regulation. Both you and I know that, so I expect you to report to sickbay at 1100 hours tomorrow. McCoy out."

Keeping his grip on the arms of his chair, Spock closed his eyes, attempting to meditate. He had been instructed long ago, when he was a youth, that intense meditation was a rare, but possible antidote to his situation. He slowed his breathing and tried to concentrate on the ancient chants that he had been taught, the words that would draw the needs of his own from his thoughts.

Suddenly, the one thing came to his mind that he had been determined to eliminate ever since he came back to his quarters -- Christine Chapel.

Spock recalled the petrified look in her eyes when he cornered her. She always seemed like such a confident woman, but he tore that cover from her the moment he lost control. Whatever was on his mind at the moment made him revolt in shame, repulsed that such thoughts would ever enter his mind.

Then, he wondered what it was that made him close in on her…Fury? No. Lust. It was lust, the one thing he had very little experience in, the one thing he had always thought shallow and disrespectful to those of the opposite sex. These hypocritical emotions were seizing control of him, turning him into someone other than a proud, docile member of the Vulcan race.

Christine, he silently mused, repeating her name several times in his mind before giving way to other thought. His mind recalled her soft, but beautiful eyes that were such a striking shade of blue; her small, unimposing figure that was so small in comparison to his broad-shoulders, his lofty stature, but was always able to hold her ground in any situation; and finally, her modest intelligence that she never flaunted, but used to her advantage very often.

Suddenly, he opened his eyes, forcing the thoughts to dissipate.

No, Spock thought to himself. I will not use her as an object of my incurable madness. She does not deserve it. She does not deserve me.

* * *

For the second night in a row, Christine was gazing at the ceiling, unable to get any sleep. But this time, it was for a completely different reason. The day before, she was an officer accused of physical assault, but now she was the acting captain who was charged with delivering the ship to the starbase to where her hearing was set to be. She appointed the same ensign who had been her substitute while she was in sickbay as her replacement.

She had not seen Spock since their encounter earlier that day, but had been notified by McCoy that he had, though not without some discord, agreed to report for his physical, scheduled for later the next morning.

Christine gripped her pillow, remembering when she blindly wandered the bridge for hours, unable to take the place of the previous captain. It was not in her place, she mused. It was Spock's. And she was determined to get him back to that place as soon as possible.

* * *

A/N: Erm, heh, I was wondering if I could get more detailed reviews (at least, for this chapter, or the story up to this point) because I'm really interested in what the readers would like to see more of. I know what I am going to do from here on out, at least for the next five chapters or so, but I would like a general idea of what you like/don't like/want/etc.

Thanks again. I will update as soon as I can.


	13. Chapter 13

Disclaimer: If I owned Star Trek, I would already have a movie adaptation of this fan fiction in the works. But there isn't one, so go figure.

A/N: ZOMG, I BOUGHT THE BEST OF THE ORIGINAL SERIES ON DVD. ONLY FOUR EPISODES, BUT SO TOTALLY WORTH IT…ESPECIALLY WHEN I SAW AMOK TIME. ^___^

Ahem. I apologize, I'm quite hyper.

I have also updated my profile page quite a bit. I have added a casting section for the non-movieverse characters. By the way, the rating is going to increase after this chapter, so the updates won't appear on the default Star Trek page due to the rating filter, so be sure to adjust the rating when looking for this story. That, or put it on your alerts, or something.

* * *

Christine paced back and forth, occasionally glancing into sickbay to see if Spock's physical examination was completed. It was half past eleven and the bridge personnel were released for lunch, but for new acting captain, there was something much more important than her midday meal. The private examination room was closed, indicating to Christine that McCoy had taken Spock in there for the physical.

All morning she had been aimlessly wandering around the bridge, just like the afternoon before, avoiding having to sit down in the chair that she had been so grudging to accept. Though her legs were sore from standing all morning, she was much too anxious to sit down.

Suddenly, at the corner of her eye, she detected movement. She looked over into the sickbay and saw the door open, and out walked McCoy, followed by a solemn Spock. Her full attention was now focused on the two officers. They conversed with each other for a few minutes before Spock took his leave, heading directly for the exit closest to Christine. She turned to look like she had only been passing by and not waiting around for nearly an hour.

As she neared the corner of the hall, a voice made her freeze. "Captain Chapel?"

She slowly turned around, slightly apprehensive to face the owner of the voice. Her fears were confirmed the moment her eyes briefly met his dark brown ones. It was Spock. He took a step toward her, his hands clasped tightly behind his back as always.

"Captain," she acknowledged him, walking towards him and stopping when she was about two paces away.

"You are the captain, if I remember correctly, not I. Why are you not present on the bridge?"

"It's lunchtime…Commander Spock," she answered, taking a moment to remember his previous rank when Captain Kirk was still present. She figured that the best way to ward off any sort of awkwardness would be to not question his

"I see," Spock commented, not making eye contact with her. His shoulders tightened, but he seemed much more at ease than the day before.

"When are you going to take back your post as Captain?"

"I am unable to provide an answer," he said, not providing any sort of elaboration.

After a long moment of silence, Christine spoke. "What is wrong with you?"

"I just need…rest. That is all," Spock answered, avoiding eye contact with her.

Christine nodded. "If you will excuse me, Commander," she dismissed herself, leaving Spock alone in the corridor. It took a lot out of her to not look at him; she felt his intense glare burning a hole into her back.

When she entered sickbay, she found McCoy rearranging his tools, with Nurse Barrows off to the side, filling out paperwork.

"Well…?" she inquired. She stared at him for a few quiet moments before he finished his organizing.

McCoy looked up at her and sighed. He briefly glanced over at the occupied Tonia and motioned for Christine to join him in his office for privacy. When they entered the room, he took a seat behind his desk, turning off his computer to avoid any sort of distraction. Christine seated herself in a chair that sat in front of his desk and awaited his diagnosis on Spock's ailment.

"His stress levels are through the roof," McCoy shrugged his shoulders in bewilderment, "But the damned Vulcan claimed that the cure would be rest and meditation, that's all! I can't see how that's possible…His vitals are dangerously high, almost fatal."

Christine nodded, but did not answer. Instead, she was now in thought. Suddenly, she looked over at McCoy. "He's lying." She recalled the way he wouldn't look at her when he explained the remedy for his predicament.

"Lying?" he asked bewilderedly. "Chapel, I dunno if it's occurred to ya, but Vulcans can't lie."

"They choose not to lie, McCoy, but they are capable of lying. Everyone is," she mused, furrowing her eyebrows together in concentration.

"I think you're goin' bonkers, Chapel."

Christine shook her head and got up. "McCoy, I know there's something wrong with him. Something that not even Vulcan meditation can cure."

McCoy lifted a skeptical eyebrow.

"You didn't see him, McCoy. You didn't see the look on his face. He looked like he was dying." Her voice starting cracking at the final sentence. "And I'm going to find out what it is."

"How are ya gonna do that, Chapel? He's not gonna tell ya."

"I know. But I'm sure we've got something on file about Vulcan medical conditions…Don't we?"

McCoy sighed and stood up. "You remember when Kirk and him went off on their first mission?"

Christine nodded.

"And you remember how amazed I was about that hobgoblin's heartbeat and how it was so rapid? There was a reason. Vulcans are very isolated, so there isn't a lot of information on their…biology. Whatever you know about em is about as far as it gets, since you just got out of med school."

"So, you're saying that it will be virtually impossible for me to find out anything about his condition?" She shifted her weight onto one leg and put her hands on her hips.

"Exactly."

Christine sighed loudly. "Nothing's impossible." She then turned to exit his office and sickbay.

"Chapel, wait up," called McCoy, who followed her down the corridor. He grabbed her arm so that she would face him. "I'm sure it's just some sorta Vulcan thing, like a cold for us, or something. It'll be impossible to find anything out about."

Christine shrugged him off and continued on her way.

"Where you goin'?" He called after her, standing where she left him.

"To start a little project," she called over her shoulder, entering an elevator lift.

* * *

Christine slumped exhaustedly over her desk, surrounded by old texts and scripts, as well as PADDs pertaining to her current point of interest. Her computer had been absolutely no help, due to the lack of Starfleet information on Vulcans, despite the destroyed planet being a former member of the Federation.

For the past three and a half days, she had been conducting long and vigorous hours of endless research, barely leaving her quarters except for her evening meal or a cup of hot coffee. McCoy stopped by a few times, mostly on his way to the mess hall, asking her if she was done with her "mindless shenanigans." She declined any sort of help from him, knowing that he would be a waste of space anyways, due to his skeptical reasoning.

Christine had contacted numerous organizations, embassies, and even the head of Starfleet Medical, but she had scraped up very little information, save for the various texts that were transported to her from an anonymous member of the new Vulcan colony. Apparently, they had heard from Starfleet and were unusually willing to assist her.

When she finally got her hands on the scripts, she considered it a godsend, but had to upload a Vulcan translator, along with its many dialects, to her computer to understand what they said. She was nearly halfway through with the third document when she finally found something.

As soon as the translator was done, she read it to herself in a low whisper. "Every seven years, Vulcan males undergo a neurochemical imbalance that takes on a form of madness, or plak tow. This condition is called the pon farr, and during this period, the brain appears to shut down. Violence and emotional outbursts are common symptoms, due to endorphins and hormones rising to a fatally high level. If it is not satiated, the Vulcan will die within eight days. The most common method to relieve the pon farr is…mating."

For a moment, Christine stared at the computer screen, rereading the translated segment over and over, confirming her original thoughts. She then selected other dialects, just to be sure that there weren't any metaphors. Unfortunately, it reflected back the same confirmation over and over, making her heart skip a beat. She kept reading, carefully searching for another method of satiation; but there was none.

She leaned back in her chair, stretching out her aching back. Running a hand through her unkempt hair, she closed her eyes, musing on the current situation.

* * *

Spock clenched his hands together, tightening his grip with every passing moment, making him wince slightly due to his immense strength. He had confined himself to his quarters since the day that Doctor McCoy had given him a physical. How long ago that had been, he did not know; for all he knew, he was on his eighth day and Death was about to knock on his door.

And that was fine with him.

He closed his eyes, thinking of all the lives he had disrupted, even ruined. He had let down his parents, leaving them at the age of eighteen, to pursue a life in Starfleet, a life he thought would make him content with himself. The only thing that it did was arrive too late to save his beloved mother, the one woman in his life who had the patience for him. Now his father was a widower, sentenced to live the rest of his long life alone. It was all Spock's fault.

And then there was Nyota, whom he had sidetracked months before. She was no doubt happily involved with Jim. If he had never been there, they would have been together much sooner. All he had given her was cold recognition, followed by hollow admiration.

He reached over to adjust the temperature once more to the coldest setting, making him much more comfortable in the midst of his fever, which made his blood feel as if it was boiling, as if he would explode at any given moment.

Suddenly, a small knock was heard at his door, but he dismissed it as mind's way of telling that the end was not far. A moment later, it repeated itself, much louder and persistent than before. He pushed himself up and crossed the room. He pushed the small button that opened the door automatically.

And there stood a very fatigued Christine Chapel.

She smiled meekly, staring past his barrier of a body into the room. "Why is it so cold in here? I thought Vulcans liked arid weather."

He didn't answer; he just stared down at her, keeping his hands tightly behind his back. His thoughts demanded a reason why she was there, but he remained silent.

Suddenly, her voice was much more serious, her face humorless. "Can I come in?"

* * *

A/N: DUN DUN DUN.


	14. Chapter 14

Disclaimer: If I owned Star Trek, I'd handcuff myself to Spock. Which he'd find highly illogical. But I own neither a pair of handcuffs nor Star Trek, so I think you can guess where this is going.

A/N: Alright, so the reason for the long delay in updating this story is due to the fact that this was a ridiculously difficult chapter to write…especially the first part. I've never written a…umm…well a scene of that nature before, so that's why it's so crummy. Actually, for some reason, I kept getting these strange visions about my sweet, innocent grandmother reading this, even though she hasn't even the vaguest idea on how to operate a computer…And that is why it took so damn long for me to grow a pair and get with the program.

BTW, some of you have noticed that I posted a youtube link of the trailer to this story on my profile; since then, I have removed it and replaced it with a newer version, so please GO TO MY PROFILE and click on the youtube link. Heh. Self-promotion, much?

Be forewarned; awkward situations ahead. Yes. Those sort of situations. Hence the rating.

* * *

Spock did not answer her, but the door remained open as he returned to the confines of his quarters. She followed him, hesitantly at first, but quickened her pace when he turned to face her. They were standing in the small, but quaint sitting area that every senior officer's accommodations housed.

Christine sat down on the sofa, but he remained standing, staring stiffly at the wall behind her.

"What is it you wish to convey to me, Captain?" His tone was even more detached than usual, not even sounding vaguely interested in her abrupt, impromptu presence.

She mentally winced at the usage of the rank, but did not allow it to get in the way of her original intentions. She took a deep breath and stared down at her hands before answering, deciding exactly how to put into words what she wanted to say. After a long moment of prolonged silence, she stared up at him and spoke. "I have been doing some research."

"That is hardly a surprise, Captain. We have come across many intriguing soil samples on our last planet mission--" But before he could finish, he was interrupted by Christine, who knew that he knew what she was referring to, but thought it best to play dumb and change the subject.

"I'm not referring to soil samples, Commander."

He did not answer, but instead continued to stare blankly at the wall.

She continued. "I did research on your…condition." And at that, his shoulders tensed up considerably. He was clearly unnerved by this revelation. "It took a while, but I found out what it was."

"You have no knowledge of what I am undergoing." His voice was distant, infuriated even.

But Christine remained calm, not wanting to antagonize him even more, though she knew that at this time he was unpredictable, possibly even dangerous.

"I do. It said that you had eight days to live and I'm sure that by now, you aren't far from that deadline."

"I have been meditating," Spock said simply, as if that would cease her concern.

"But it's not working."

His immediate silence confirmed her statement.

Suddenly, Christine stood, probably quicker than she originally had intended. She strode across the room and stood toe-to-toe with him, staring up at him gravely, her blue eyes boring into his dark brown ones.

"Let me help you. You are too important to Starfleet to lose." She paused for a moment, clenching her jaw. She grabbed his arm, which he surprisingly did not shake off. "Consider that an order."

Spock stared down at her, his slanted eyebrows furrowing together, his eyes fathomless. Her eyes were wide with solemnity, trying to overlook the barrier that he always surrounded himself with. After nearly a full minute of tension, she let go of his arm and took a step backwards.

"Fine. I suppose it was useless coming here. You're too proud to save your own life." And as she turned to leave, Christine felt a tight grip suddenly take hold of her upper right arm. She turned her head to look at Spock.

He was not looking at her, but off to the side, though she felt a peculiar vibe emanating from him, something out of character to his usual standoffishness.

"You are willing…to assist me?" he asked quietly, almost in a whisper. She turned her entire body around to face him once more.

"Yes."

"And you are aware of the repercussions…that I could injure you?"

"Well, you've already sprained my wrist," she joked lightly, holding up her bandaged hand; her sling was gone, but her bandages were due to be removed in the morning. Then it hit her like a ton of bricks; he was being wholeheartedly serious. She sensed his painful anxiety and changed her tone to a much more somber one. "I want to help you. I could not live with myself if you died all because were unable to reach out to anyone about this." And that was when her voice began to shake. "Please."

Suddenly, for reasons that even she could not comprehend, Christine took his stiff hand in her trembling one. He finally looked down at her and made eye contact. There was something different in his eyes, something undistinguishable. Wanting? No. Gratitude. That's what it was.

Suddenly, Spock turned to his desk that sat in the corner and opened a drawer, pulling out a halfway full bottle of green liquid, along with two glasses. He walked towards the sitting area and Christine sat down on the sofa, and he next to her. He immediately set the glasses on the glass table in front of the them, and poured them both halfway with the

She smiled to herself. "I thought Vulcans didn't drink alcohol," she said as he handed her a glass.

"I am half-Vulcan. My mother was a Human. This Vulcan port does not usually affect its own race, but is known to stimulate the minds of Humans, making me slightly vulnerable to its influence."

"Oh…I didn't know," she said, sniffing at the drink before taking a sip; it smelled of The port was very bitter at first, but the aftertaste was sweet and pleasing, leaving a warm sensation in her dry throat.

"It is not common knowledge that I have a diverse ancestry."

A brief silence accompanied this, followed by Christine downing the rest of the substance rather quickly, making her stomach bubbly with a complicated mixture of eagerness and timidity. She wanted to get this done with, to complete what had to be accomplished. And then they could forget that this had ever taken place.

Problem solved, no questions asked.

Christine set down her empty glass on the table, next to Spock's barely touched one. She gulped, swallowing her pride along with her lurking fear, and grabbed his hand very tightly, though he seemed hardly affected by the notion. After a few uncomfortable seconds, he looked down at their joined hands, his barely gripping her own persistent one. Suddenly, just when Christine was about to let go, he squeezed her hand securely, looking directly at her.

Her heart began to beat rapidly and her throat began to dry up once more, making her yearn for another glass of the soothing green beverage. As her free hand reached for the bottle that was still sitting on the table, she scooted forward suddenly; little did she realize, Spock was moving towards her with swift dexterity, his face barely an inch way when she had decided to abruptly move. Her nose crashed painfully with his cheekbone, making her move backwards in surprise.

"Ow," she involuntarily exclaimed, rubbing her sore nose. She looked over at Spock, who, despite his Vulcan serenity, appeared to be slightly embarrassed. "Sorry," Christine apologized, mortified with humiliation. The last thing she wanted was for him to be self-conscious. She tightened her grip on his hand to assure him of her sincerity.

"It would be logical to--" he began, but Christine immediately read his mind.

"My thoughts exactly," she speedily agreed, getting off the sofa with him, still hand-in-hand. He lead her towards a door that was off to the side, next to his desk.

His bedroom, Christine noted as they walked in, was mediocre in size, like the sitting room, but seemed much more warm and comfortable; The walls were adorned with red hangings and shelves filled with aged books and Vulcan relics, while his bed was large, larger than her own, and decked out in the Starfleet regulated duvet.

She sat down on his bed, sinking slightly into the thick mattress. Spock immediately began to remove his shoes and blue shirt; once they were discarded in his usual precise fashion, he sat down next to her, watching her pull off her shirt. She tried to be careful to not seem too eager.

As soon as they were both wearing their black undershirts, he slowly scooted towards her, his face nearing hers with every passing second. When his lips touched hers, his kiss was not as desperate as she would have thought; instead, it was soft and gentle. She began to kiss him back after a few moments, making the mutual contact gain more momentum.

She felt his hands reach for the bottom of her shirt and he began to slowly raise it, only to stop halfway up her torso. He pulled away from her and as soon as he did so, she egged him on. "Go ahead." He quickly pulled her shirt over her head, throwing it the side in an unexpectedly fervent manner. She quickly pulled off her pants and kicked them to the side. Turning to him, Christine watched as he took off his undershirt, revealing a built torso.

After a minute or two of undressing, they were both naked. Christine briefly admired his lithe and alluring form. She laid down on the bed, moving herself further towards the middle, while he closely followed, climbing on top of her and continuing to tenderly kiss her.

As soon as they were both on the bed, Spock began to lower himself down, but hesitated for a moment. Noticing his reluctance, she reached down and lifted her hips, luring him to proceed. After a moment he did so, and slowly entered her. She suddenly gasped aloud, not used to this level of intimacy. She had not been with anyone in over a year, and a year was a long time to go without.

His Vulcan hearing had alerted him of her sudden discomfort. He immediately pushed himself up. "Did I hurt…?"

"No, no…It's okay, keep going, I'm fine," she assured him eagerly, pulling him back down and claiming his lips in encouragement.

When he finally was inside of her, he began to slowly sway back and forth before moving to a much more powerful, if not desperate, thrust. She moaned lowly and closed her eyes, enjoying the pleasurable feeling that he induced upon her. Christine heard a few impatient groans escaping from him as she dug her nails across his muscular back, urging him endure.

Finally, the climax arrived and she yelled out, followed by numerous gasps of imminent exhaustion. Spock did not immediately climb off of her, but instead panted in weariness, though Christine could tell it was from gratefulness also. When he rolled off of her, she was suddenly thankful for the cold atmosphere of the room.

She looked over at Spock, whose eyes were closed. She could tell he was still awake, due to the rising and lowering of his chest; she wondered if he was suddenly lost in meditation and if so, did not want to disturb him. She carefully pulled back the comforter and climbed in between the cool sheets, reveling in comfort.

Just as she lost all sense of her surroundings and succumbed to a deep slumber, Christine felt a strong arm grab hold of her waist, pulling her close to a warm body, entwining their legs with hers.

* * *

A/N: Yes, I am fully aware that was the worst "mature" scene you probably ever read. LOL. Just so everyone knows, I've never gotten this far in a story before; I usually chicken out before anything like this happens. So…Kudos to me for effort, I suppose.


	15. Chapter 15

Disclaimer: I own nothing. This chapter wouldn't be so crappy if I did.

* * *

Spock glanced over at the holoclock on the bedside table, the digits illuminated in the darkness. It was nearly three in the morning and he was still wide awake. In just a couple of hours, he would be one of the crewmembers to testify at Christine's court martial hearing on Starbase 154.

Christine.

He looked down at the young woman sleeping beside him, whom he had been holding tightly for the past few hours. She was asleep before he was able to say anything to her, but had owed it to the fact that she had been tirelessly researching his affliction, not to mention their cumbersome rendezvous.

Due to his Vulcan eyesight, he was able to make out her face in the darkness much clearer than a Human would; she seemed much more peaceful in her slumber, not at all the afflicted young woman with the emotions that dominated every Human mind.

He recalled the moment they kissed, the strange sensation that he had felt at the pit of his stomach. It was not exactly lust, but neither was it friendship. It was as if he had wanted to do that for so long, that he had been burying it in the back of his mind for so long and it finally all came spilling out at that moment in time.

He immediately dismissed the idea from his mind; the very thought of anything other than a professional relationship was imprudent, not to mention incongruous. She was helping him, that was all. Nothing she had done that night had anything to do with what she was feeling; it only had to do with rationality.

Spock slowly released the woman from his tight grasp, careful not to wake her. He moved away from her and closed his eyes, shutting out his Human half.

They would never be together. It would be illogical to even consider the idea.

* * *

Christine groaned, stretching out her sore limbs. She rubbed her eyes and sat herself up, careful to keep her torso covered out of modesty. She looked around to find that she was in the bed alone, and Spock was nowhere to be seen.

She glanced over at the holoclock on the table besides the bed as she got up.

"Damn," she grumbled, realizing she had woken up nearly two hours late. With the blanket still wrapped around her body, she crossed the room and picked up her clothes.

When she entered the small bathroom, she could tell that Spock had been there earlier, judging by the mirror being fogged up from a recent shower. After a very quick shower, Christine changed back into her uniform and exited his quarters, careful to be swift so that no one would notice where she had came from.

The intercom above buzzed on and a voice addressing the entire ship began to speak. It confirmed her hopes.

"This is Commander Spock speaking. I have resumed command of the Enterprise and we are currently in the process of docking into Starbase 154 for a scheduled inspection, as well as temporary shore leave. It is 0930 hours and we will be begin the transport of shuttles for all crew members at 1000 hours. The ship is scheduled for departure at 1700 hours and all personnel are due back at 1630 hours."

A part of her was glad that she had restored him back to his rightful captaincy, but another part of her was more concerned about her upcoming court martial that she was due to appear at in just two hours.

* * *

"You okay, Chapel? You look tired," asked McCoy. Christine took a long sip of hot coffee and rubbed her eyes.

"Er…I'm fine. Rough night…" she murmured. McCoy looked at her quizzically. "I was going over engineering stats."

He shrugged his shoulders. "I saw Spock go by earlier. Looked pretty normal, well at least what a Vulcan would consider normal, I guess."

"Must be a miracle," commented Christine quietly, watching the laser scalpel cleanly slice the bandages. The last thing she wanted to do at the moment was reveal to McCoy the events of last night. He would never be able to let it down, let alone believe it occurred in the first place. It wasn't his business anyways.

"They asked me to speak at your hearing today."

She took her eyes off the scalpel to look up at him. "Really? I wonder why they need all of these testimonies. None of you were there in the first place."

"Probably so they can paint a picture of you. Ya know, to show what you're like, I suppose."

"I guess. It's just strange," she mused, taking another sip of coffee.

* * *

Christine was seated at a table alone, occasionally glaring over at her disturbingly smug opponent, Roger Korby. When she had been escorted into the courtroom minutes before, he had been talking rather comfortably with the two of the three flag officers who were assigned to oversee the hearing. This gave her a bad feeling in the pit of her stomach, because she knew that Roger had a lot of friends in high places, especially since he was a very distinguished Starfleet officer.

Seated along the sidewall of the courtroom was the people chosen to testify -- a moody McCoy and the ever-formal Spock. The former was looking around at the court rather suspiciously, while the latter was facing forward, his back straight against the chair. Christine occasionally glanced over at Spock, half-hoping, half-fearing a look from him. They had not spoken all morning and when he entered the courtroom with McCoy, it had been the first time she had seen him since last night. He was back to his normal self, obviously, and she was glad.

On the opposite wall sat the only testifier against her, Roger. A few feet away from Christine's table was another table which sat the prosecuting attorney, a tall, slightly hunched man in his early forties with a premature bald spot and squinted eyes.

Suddenly, the doors to the courtroom flew open and in walked two men in their early fifties, who she presumed was the third commanding officer to preside and the officiator of the court. She had recognized one of them, but was not able to place how. The three presiding officers all stood together, while the fourth one stood apart. The familiar officer rang the small bell that had alerted the court of its commencing.

The officiating officer stood up, along with the rest of the court. "This court is now in session. I am Commodore Wilkes, the commanding officer of this starbase. I have appointed as members of the court Captains Rush and Carrington, and Admiral Christopher Pike."

Christine's eyes looked over at the final member, instantly recalling where she had heard his name; he was the former Captain of the Enterprise and had since been promoted to Admiral. She remembered reading in a holopaper that both of his legs were broken after the Romulan dispute, but they were now healed after many months.

Commodore Wilkes continued. "Do you have any objections, Lieutenant Chapel, to the men presiding over your case? You are allowed substitutes if you feel the need due to any bias."

"No objections, sir," she said after a long moment, knowing that due to Pike's status that he would have the high hand and be able to see the logic in the situation.

"And do you consent to Lieutenant Gibbs as prosecuting officer and myself as president of the court?"

"Yes, sir."

The Commodore nodded and turned to the computer at his side, typing in a couple of buttons. The computer addressed the court. "Christine Emilia Chapel. Service number NI-596 MT21Z. Service rank, Lieutenant. Position, First officer, science officer. Current assignment, USS Enterprise. Commendations, valedictorian of Starfleet Medical graduating class. Charge: Physical assault, causing injury upon offending Doctor Roger Korby. To all recorded charges and specifications, what does the defendant plea?"

"Not guilty."

"I call Doctor McCoy, chief medical officer of the Enterprise, to the stand."

She looked over at McCoy, who slowly got up and crossed the room. He handed the presiding officer his data chip and sat down in a chair in the middle of the court that faced the defendant and prosecution.

The computer read out the data. "Leonard Horatio McCoy, serial number SM426G721. Service rank, Lieutenant Commander. Position, Chief Medical Officer. Current assignment, USS Enterprise. Commendations, decorated once by Starfleet command."

"You are the senior chief medical officer aboard the Enterprise, Doctor McCoy?"

"Obv -- I mean, yes, I am." His jaw was clenched, careful not to slip up and say something that could ultimately destroy any chance of her winning this case.

"Was Lieutenant Christine Chapel a good assistant before being promoted to Science Officer upon Captain James Kirk's departure?"

"Yes, she was the best. I couldn't ask for any better."

"Would you consider her a responsible member of the crew?"

"Yes."

"But somehow, the defendant seemed to completely relinquish her usually coy exterior, and attack Doctor Roger Korby, in fact, to the point of the dislocation of his nose, as well as the painful breaking of his cheekbone."

"It seems odd to me that everyone is makin' a lot of hoopla over sumthin' that could easily be fixed with a growth pill. For God's sake, we've got meds in the sickbay that could cure that in seconds, if not minutes."

He had a good point, Christine thought.

"That is not the point, Doctor McCoy. The fact of the matter is the defendant assaulted this man, no matter how easy it would be to remedy the injuries."

"Well, knowin' Chapel, he probably deserved it. She wouldn't do sumthin' like that without good reason. Ya know what they say, the sun don't shine on the same dog's tail all the time. You get what you deserve."

"Are you insinuating that Doctor Korby initiated the skirmish?" asked the Commodore, eyes squinting at McCoy.

"Look, I'm sayin' that to go and fly off the handle…It's completely unlike her."

"I see. Thank you, Doctor McCoy, you may step down. I call to the stand the offending officer, Doctor Roger Korby."

McCoy returned to his seat and Roger stood and crossed the room, handing the Commodore his data card.

"Roger Alexander Korby, serial number DW6432V2. Service rank, Lieutenant Commander. Position, Chief Medical Officer. Current assignment, Starbase 89," the computer announced.

"Doctor Korby, it is the court's assumption that the defendant, Christine Chapel, assaulted you nine days ago. Do you recall this event?"

"I do, sir."

"Could you describe it to the court, please, Doctor?"

"I was passing by one of the holocommunication rooms when I spotted Christine. I thought it would be a good idea to surprise her. When I walked in, she completely went off on me and the next thing I knew, I was on the floor, my face covered in blood. I have no idea what made her react in such a way."

"From what I gather, she's usually a very quiet, mellow sort of person, correct? What do you think would push her to such a limit?"

"To be honest, sir, a while back we went through a very rocky breakup. I thought that by now she would be over it, but apparently she's still fixated on me."

"Hm. Very well, then, Doctor. You may step down. I call the acting captain of the Enterprise, Commander Spock, to the stand, please."

"Spock, serial number S179-276SP. Service rank, Commander. Position, acting captain. Current assignment, USS Enterprise. Commendations, Starfleet Academy Award of Distinction. Awards of valor. Decorated once by Starfleet command."

"Commander Spock, with Lieutenant Chapel as your science officer and second-in-command, I can imagine that she and you collaborated often."

"Yes, Lieutenant. She is a very valuable member of the Enterprise."

Christine suddenly wondered if that had a double meaning.

"Do the both of you get along well?"

"With all due respect, Lieutenant, whether or not two officers get along well outside of their professional duties is not relevant, but yes, we do not have any stifles between us."

"Has she ever confided in you about her previous relationship with Doctor Korby?"

Christine's stomach began to twist; she prayed Spock would, just for once, not be dutiful.

"Yes, very briefly."

Thanks, she thought, slumping slightly in her seat in discomfort.

"Was this before or after the assault incident?"

"After, sir."

"And did she tell you about their past conflict?"

"She did not specify."

"So, not only did she assault this man, but she also lied to her commanding officer."

"She merely did not mention the incident. That hardly specifies as deception."

"It seems like a strange thing to overlook, does it not, Commander?"

"Yes, Lieutenant."

"Very well. You may step down, Commander."

Spock rose and crossed the room, passing Christine in her chair. They exchanged glances briefly and her eye twitched slightly. He was as unchanged as ever, while she was internally ailing.

She knew she was not going to win this. It would be impossible.

"The court will adjourn following the hour-long recess. On return, the verdict will be announced."

The officers filed out of the room, but Christine remained, still as stone.

* * *

Spock knocked on the open door lightly, letting the superior officer know of his prescence. The office was small, but the walls were decorated with every honor and award that the Admiral had received during his impressive career.

"Admiral," Spock greeted the man with a salute.

Admiral Pike was seated at his desk, his eyes transfixed on a PADD.

"Mister Spock…Or should I say, Captain? I hope you are treating my ship well." He returned the salute and motioned for the Vulcan to seat himself.

"The Enterprise is operating with flawless precision, sir."

A moment of silence passed between the two.

"Something tells me that the operation of the ship wasn't the reason why you wished to speak with me." Pike set aside the PADD and focused his entire attention on his former science officer.

"No, Admiral. It's about the Lieutenant."

Pike raised a surprised eyebrow. "Lieutenant Chapel? Yes, quite an interesting case." He leaned back in his chair slightly, eyeing Spock.

"I know it is erroneous of me, but I know that the court will find her guilty. Doctor Korby is very influential and has the high hand in the situation, due to his superior rank and contributions to Starfleet."

Pike nodded, concurring. "Your suspicions are correct. Luck is not on her side. If she isn't found guilty of intentional assault, she will still be punished for the act of violence that she displayed. Either way, her career is in jeopardy."

"Admiral, despite her actions, she does not deserve to be chastened. She had told me a bit about Doctor Korby and I gathered that he is not the most honorable of men. I will do whatever it takes to shield her from ruin."

"You seem quite determined, Spock. This is rather unlike you to interfere with the judgment of Starfleet."

It is the least I could do after she helped me…Saved me, he thought. It would be most uncivil of him to pass up any chance to aid her in this dire situation.

"I am aware, Admiral, but I will not stand by and allow this to happen."

"I will do what I can to help Lieutenant Chapel. While it is unlikely that she will be imprisoned, a dismissal from her current position is possible."

Dismissal? Gone? From the Enterprise? He felt a slight pang in his stomach, but ignored it. He nodded.

"I understand, Admiral," Spock replied firmly.

* * *

Christine looked up at the returning panel. The Admiral and the Captains sat down, but Commodore Wilkes remained standing. The Admiral was eyeing her down intently, and it took everything she had to look back at him.

"Christine Chapel, please rise." She did so. "The court finds you guilty of assault. While it may be true that you were defending yourself, the point of the entire situation is the lack of morality in that judgment. It is unfit for a Starfleet officer, especially with one so distinguished as yourself, to be resorting to such violence. When you were sworn into Starfleet, you took an oath of regulation and on the day of this incident, you disobeyed that oath. Your sentence is a twelve-month ban from stepping foot on a starship."

"Wait a goddamn min --" came McCoy's outraged voice from behind her, but he was silenced suddenly, presumably by Spock.

She nodded, squeezing her left fist slightly to keep her from arguing. The best thing she could do now was be as courteous as humanely possible. "I understand, Commodore."

"Lieutenant, the panel has agreed to dismiss you from your current assignment on the Enterprise. You will receive your new instructions once you arrive back in San Francisco at the Starfleet Headquarters. Court dismissed."

* * *

Christine stuffed the last of her clothes into the old-Earth style grey duffle bag, not caring if it would wrinkle or not. It had been nearly two hours since the dismissal of court and she had been informed that the next shuttle to Earth would be departing in thirty-five minutes.

Sighing, she closed the bag, and scanned the room once last time; it had been stripped of all her belongings. She heard the door buzz open.

"I'm sorry, Chapel," came McCoy's sympathetic voice.

She nodded and turned to face him. "It's…It's fine, McCoy." She smiled up at him as her eyes began to glaze over.

"So I, uh, guess this is so long," he said, extending his hand.

She took it and shook it. He suddenly pulled her in with the crook of his arm. "Ah, damn, Chapel! I'm gonna miss ya."

She laughed and pushed him away. "I'll be fine, McCoy. Really."

They both exited her quarters.

"The hobgoblin is in the shuttle bay."

"Magical," she grumbled, adjusting the duffle strap that was bruising her shoulder. "So…I'll see you soon, hopefully? I mean, I'm sure your due for shore leave in a while."

"Hope so, Chapel. I'll be seein' ya." And with that, McCoy disappeared down the hallway.

She sighed and leaned herself against the wall, hoping to steal a couple of moments for herself. The rims of her eyes were brimming over with hot tears, but she wiped them away; the last thing she needed now was anyone's pity. This was her doing and she was going to suffer the consequences.

Moments later, she was in a lift that was going downwards toward the shuttle bay. When the door opened, she was greeted by Scotty.

"Why aren't you on the starbase, Scotty? This might be the only leave you get for a while."

Scotty smiled at her. "I canna spend a moment away from this ship. It's my life, lassie."

She smiled at him. "It's comforting to know that we have such a devoted engineer."

"Aye…I must bid you farewell, lass. It saddens me to think that you must go back to Earth."

"It's…uh, It's fine, Scottie. Where is the Captain?"

"Over there, telling my assistant how to do his job," he said, motioning behind his shoulder. Christine peered over his shoulder to see Spock and a red-shirted engineer engaged in a rather heated conversation.

"Thanks Scotty, and bye." She walked past him.

"Farewell, lassie, you'll be missed!" he called after her.

As she neared Spock, he dismissed the engineer. She somehow doubted Scotty's last words as their eyes met, his bland with inexpression.

"Captain," she greeted him.

"Lieutenant," he returned, nodding.

They walked side-by-side in silence. As the shuttle, which was on the other side of the bay, neared, she turned her head.

"I hope you are replacing me with a worthy candidate."

"Negative, Lieutenant, your replacement hardly matches your skill."

Christine wondered if he really meant it. She doubted it. He wasn't one to flatter.

He turned to her. "Allow me to express my regret in the verdict."

"It's fine. It isn't like you could stop yourself from telling the truth."

"I'm afraid I do not understand, Lieutenant."

She turned and glared up at him in frustration. "Your testimony gave them the fuel they needed. If you could have just kept quiet on how I told you about Roger, we wouldn't be in this situation right now."

"It seemed logical to --"

"Just for once, fuck logic!" she yelled, gaining some stares from a few nearby engineers. "Because of you, my record is stained forever!"

She pushed past him and sped up, heading directly for the shuttle.

"I sense your irritation," he said, catching up with her. "And I know you expected me to lie for your after…" he lowered his voice, "last night, but either way, the court was going to charge you."

"Next time you need someone to save your life, don't expect me to come knocking." Her voice was bitter, her throat filled with emotion. "Goodbye."

Moments later, the shuttle departed, and Christine finally allowed herself to cry.

* * *

A/N: Yeah. That sucked.


	16. Chapter 16

Disclaimer: If I owned Star Trek, my life wouldn't be so chaotic.

A/N: Felt like a quick update. I decided to not end this story, because it seemed too short at only fifteen chapters, so I am just going to continue on and post all future sequel chapters here. Kay? Kay.

Now let's get this party started.

* * *

Christine entered the bridge carrying a PADD, handing it to the young captain. She looked up at the main screen to find that they were dangerously near Romulan space. She gave the commanding officer a worried look.

"Status?" he asked the helmsman as he signed the small screen.

"Leaving section fourteen, going into fifteen, Captain. Nearing Romulan space, sir," Lieutenant Gary Mitchell replied, scanning the screen on his helms panel.

He handed Christine back the PADD and she crossed the room to sit down at the science station. She gazed into the scanner, squinting pass the blinding blue light that it was emanating.

"All controls on standby. Plot course to avoid entering the Neutral Zone…Are we being scanned?"

"Not yet, Captain. Course entered," Mitchell replied, entering a code on the touch screen.

"I'm getting a distress signal, sir," Lieutenant Nyota Uhura called from the communications helm, touching her earpiece with concern.

"On audio, Lieutenant."

"Aye, sir." A moment later, the message echoed on the deck, with the frequent interception of static. The lost starship alerted the bridge of its position and identification. "We are….nineteen periods…out of Altair VI…We have struck…a gravitic mine…and lost all power…Our hull is…penetrated and we have…sustained many casualties."

"This is the Starship USS Demeter…We can barely hear you! Can you supply us with your coordinates? I repeat, this is the USS Demeter!" Uhura called into her earpiece, doing her best to make out past the static.

"Our position is Gamma Hydra, Section Ten, Captain…Closing in on the Neutral Zone," Mitchell informed the captain.

Everyone turned their heads to face the Captain. A look of uncertainty was on his face, his sweaty grip locked on the arms of the command chair in anxiety. He looked at Christine, but she just turned back to her station, becoming consumed with her work.

"The hull was penetrated, the life support systems are failing," she informed the Captain.

"Data, please, on the ship!" He demanded to her.

"Subject vessel is a third class neutronic fuel carrier, crew of eighty-one, three hundred passengers," she said, scanning the data on the small screen.

"Damnit…Plot an intercept course, Mister Mitchell."

"But sir, it is universal knowledge that if a Starfleet vessel enters the Neutral Zone --" Mitchell informed him.

"Do not tell me how to do my job, Mitchell," the Captain shot back, his voice laced with a mixture of nervousness and irritation.

"Aye sir. Two minutes to interception…And now entering the Neutral Zone and Romulan space."

Christine scanned the screens, looking for any Romulan flagships that may be trying to intercept their course. If they were going to undertake a rescue, it would be prudent to be as invisible as possible to the Romulans.

"We have entered the Neutral Zone." She turned to the Captain. "We are in clear violation of the Romulan-Federation Treaty, sir. We are subject to any punishment that the Romulans wish to issue --" but she was cut off by the Captain.

"Never mind that, Lieutenant…Transport room, please standby to receive injured crewmembers."

"Yes sir," Chief Engineer Wilson answered.

She slowly turned back to her station, agitated that the Captain was not considering the dangers of the mission.

"Captain, we've lost their signal!" Nyota called. "Sir, three Klingon Cruisers, bearing three-one-six, mark four, are closing in on us fast."

"Attention! Battle stations, activate shields!"

"Shields activated, Captain."

"Kindly inform the Klingons we are on a rescue mission."

"Their frequencies are jammed, Captain!" Nyota was beginning to get irritated too, sharing a glance with Christine.

"The Klingons are closing in, sir," Christine said, slowly rising from her seat.

"Retreat, Mitchell, retreat!"

"They're activating their torpedoes and locked us into target," Mitchell said.

"Warp 6, Mitchell, get us outta here!"

"Warp 6, sir," the helmsman answered, typing in the code. The main viewer showed that the ship was retreating from Romulan space and back into Federation-regulated territory.

Christine exhaled deeply, sitting back down in her chair. "The Kobayashi Maru has been destroyed, Captain, along with its three hundred passengers."

The lights on the bridge suddenly brightened, along with all of the systems switching off. The door to the lift opened and in walked Captain James Kirk, tossing an apple from hand-to-hand.

"Well, that could have gone better." He took a bite from the apple and grinned.

* * *

Andromeda's Bar and Grill, a popular eating spot for Starfleet personnel due to its close proximity to the academy, was bustling with officers and cadets. Lieutenants Chapel and Uhura were seated across Captain James Kirk.

"I can't wait to get back my ship," Captain James Kirk said, fastening his hands behind his head. "I hope Spock's been treating her like the elegant lady she is."

Lieutenants Uhura and Chapel were seated across from him. Nyota was going through her miniature PADD, while Jim was helping himself to a second glass of beer.

"Do you know when the Enterprise will be docking at the Earth station, Jim? I think they're do for --" asked Nyota, but she was cut off by a sharp gasp from Christine, who was glancing at her digital watch.

She immediately stood up from the table, nearly knocking over her glass of iced water. "Sorry, Commander Hockley wanted me to cover his afternoon subspace geometry class."

She placed a couple of credits onto the table that would have covered her lunch. "Jim, you can have my salad if you want it," she called behind her shoulder as she was halfway towards the door.

"But I hate that vegetarian crap!" he called after her, causing many heads to face her.

Nyota just smiled and waved her onwards. Christine smiled and shook her head as she exited the restaurant.

* * *

Christine watched the students file into the classroom from the corner of her eye, but was too busy going through her miniature PADD to look at any of them in the face.

She was more than happy to take the substitute position that had been offered to her when she had arrived back in San Francisco nearly fifteen months prior. Most of these duties meant having to sit in on Kobiyashi Maru scenario simulations, but it proved helpful in the long run when she met Captain James Kirk again, who had been offered to program the test until he was able to reclaim his spot as Captain of the Enterprise. She had also began to become good friends with Nyota Uhura, who was given an instructing position.

Nyota and Christine proved to become very close friends, so much so that the former named the latter godmother of her and Jim's son, who had been born nine months prior, nearly six months after Christine came back to San Francisco. They had named the beautiful baby Mosi Christopher Kirk, and he possessed his father's big blue eyes, while still retaining his mother's glowing complexion and dark hair. Mosi was a Swahili name, meaning "first-born", while Christopher was the male derivation of Christine's name.

The overhead bell began to ring, signaling the beginning of class, forcing Christine to bury her thoughts until the end of the hour.

She stood and addressed the class. "Commander Hockley couldn't be here today, so he asked me to cover for him. I'm Lieutenant Christine Chapel." She picked up the PADD on the desk and began to read out the long list of names. She was barely a quarter of the way through and she found a disturbingly familiar name. Much to her agony, the face that belonged to the name was sitting directly in front of her, smile in tow.

When the long hour of class was over, she approached the young man.

"Chekov, what the hell are you doing here?"

"Vut do you mean, Lieutenant? Zee Enterprise granted us shore leef twenty-vor hours ago."

* * *

A/N: Good ol' Chekov, always the bearer of bad news. Heh. BTW, I put up a small playlist on my profile of songs that would go well with this story.


	17. Chapter 17

Disclaimer: If I owned Star Trek, Spock and Chapel would be having babies left and right in the original series. Aw. Blonde, blue-eyed Vulcans. So cute.

Eh. I think this chapter's kinda hokey, like something outta some dumb teenage drama show.

* * *

"Ugh, you've got to be kidding me," groaned Christine, as she entered the corridor, walking past Chekov. "Wait, what are you even doing in the classroom? I thought you graduated already."

"Academic interest," he replied. "One ken never haff enough knowledge."

"Ah," she nodded. "Well that's a great story and everything, but I'll be seeing you." She immediately regretted her words; the last thing she wanted was to see him again, him or any member of the Enterprise.

"Vie, Lieutenant," Chekov called after her.

Minutes later, she was in a large atrium where many cadets congregated during their break times. She spotted her sister, twenty-one year old Abigail Chapel, chatting animatedly with friends. As soon as Christine came within a couple feet proximity of the group, it dissolved, each of the friends going in a separate direction.

Abigail turned to her. "Well, thanks for that, Christine! Everyone thinks you're some sort of authority figure, so you scared them away…What's with you?"

"Huh? Oh, nothing, just --" she scratched the back of her head, where her hair was severely tied back in a bun.

"Ooh, who's that?" Abigail pointed over Christine's shoulder. "He's adorable! Do you know him?" Christine turned to see the curly-haired Russian speaking with Commander Fletcher, the advanced theoretical physics instructor; they seemed to be on good terms.

Suddenly, he dismissed himself from the conversation and sauntered over to Abigail and her. Christine had to keep her hands behind her back from strangling Chekov, who was looking a little too happy to see her sister.

"Lieutenant, who is this charming creature?" She hadn't seen a look like that in Chekov's eyes since the last time he droned on about his beloved motherland of Russia. Christine suddenly prayed that lightening would strike the very place where she was standing.

"Oh, give me a break," Christine moaned. "Abigail, this is Pavel Chekov. Lieutenant, this is my younger sister Abigail. She enjoys long walks on the beach, Chinese food, and has a five year old daughter that she had when she was sixteen…Come on, Abby, I think it's time --"

"I wuff cheeldrin," said Chekov. If his accent wasn't so adorable, she would have vomited all over his shoes.

"Hey, Christine!" she heard Nyota call from across the atrium. She was standing with Jim and another officer. Abigail shook off Christine's grip on her arm and continued to chat with Chekov. Christine rolled her eyes and trudged over to the three.

"Christine, did you hear about the Enterprise?"

"Yeah, Chekov was in that geometry class I was subbing for," she said, glancing back over her shoulder at her sister and the Russian. "And now I'm pretty sure he's in love with Abby."

"I'm sure you can't wait for Thanksgiving," Jim said, eyeing Chekov joyfully.

Christine turned back to the three and the moment she had done so, her stomach did a back flip. Spock was standing right in front of her, between Jim and Nyota.

"You remember Commander Spock, right Christine?" Nyota asked.

Christine could only nod very slowly, careful not to appear completely in awe over his sudden appearance. Not that she was glad to see him; in fact, she would rather be in a room full of Tribbles than be in the very position that she was in right now.

"Christine?" came Nyota's voice.

"Oh, uh, yeah. Hi, Commander. I hope the Enterprise is still in good shape?" She mentally kicked herself. She sounded like a blubbering idiot.

"It is, Lieutenant. I trust you are in good health?"

"I am, Commander." She then proceeded to look down at her shoes, intent on not saying another stupid thing for the remainder of the conversation. He continued to address Nyota and Jim about the past couple of months. She did her best to follow the conversation, but was too distracted from the sudden appearance of the Enterprise crew. By the time she was shaken from her daze, Spock was walking away, leaving Nyota, Jim, and her alone.

She watched him disappear down the corridor as Jim began to talk. "I saw Bones earlier. We were all invited to a get-together at Jupiter's later."

"Sounds great," Nyota said, grinning at Christine.

"Er, yeah, marvelous."

"What are you going to wear?"

"Um…This?" she spread her arms to motion at her current outfit, her black Starfleet uniform.

Nyota began to roar with laughter. "That's hilarious, Christine."

Obviously, she wasn't going to be wearing her uniform tonight; so much for officer's pride.

* * *

"You don't think this is too…unprofessional?" Christine said, staring at herself in the mirror. She was wearing a dark blue satin dress that fit loosely with a high waistline, while the neckline was much lower than she was used to.

Nyota, who was dressed in a tight-fitting black dress that reached just above the knees, smiled at her creation. "Nonsense! You look amazing, Christine!"

As Christine reached up to tie her hair back, Nyota slapped her hands. "Don't even think about it. You need to let your hair down every once in a while…Literally and figuratively."

Christine sighed in irritation, staring at the blonde hair that draped just below her shoulders. She always tied in back and the feeling of it free was not a welcoming one. But, she had to admit it did make her feel a tad less stressed than usual.

Now, if only she could get rid of the horrible feeling in her stomach.

* * *

"Stop messing with your hair, Christine, you look fine!" chided Nyota as they entered Jupiter's Bar and Grill.

As they stepped into the dimly-lit restaurant, Christine spotted a couple of familiar faces, mainly yeomen and ensigns. It was when they neared the bar that she spotted a familiar face that was slurping down a large glass of beer. She left Nyota and Jim and wandered over to the bar.

"Hi, can I get a glass of sherry?"

The man next to her set down his glass loudly and burped. "Christine Chapel, drinking? Never thought I'd see the day!"

She turned to him and flashed a smile. "How are you, McCoy?"

"Pretty damn good! First shore leave in over a year! That damned hobgoblin's been workin' us like no tomorrow."

Christine took a sip of her sherry. "Well, I'm glad to see you again. It's been a long fifteen months."

"So, what have ya been up to?"

"Not much. They gave me a substituting position, which means I watch classes and sit in on the Kobiyashi Maru, that sort of thing."

"Sounds exciting."

She laughed. "Pretty much."

"Want some ale? I picked this stuff up at a starbase a few weeks back. Pretty good stuff." He held up a small silver flask.

Christine shrugged her shoulders. "What the hell," she mumbled, handing him her glass. She looked across the room as McCoy filled her glass. She spotted Chekov and Abigail seated in a corner booth, looking very comfortable with each other. Christine groaned and took a sip of the glass that McCoy handed her.

The aching feeling in her stomach seemed to dissipate as she swallowed the bitter liquid.

* * *

Spock surveyed the room, watching the crew that he had been in charge of after more than a year unwind and enjoy themselves. They were all on shore leave, and yet he was standing in the corner, hands behind his back.

He watched Nyota and Jim enter, followed by Christine Chapel. She was dressed in a dark blue evening dress, not far from the very color she had worn as a science officer. Her hair, which he had grown accustomed to seeing tied back, was flowing past her shoulders. She watched her go straight to the bar, where Leonard McCoy was seated, downing a glass.

He took his eyes off of her as soon as he saw Jim and Nyota, who were both coming toward him, hand-in-hand.

"Hey, Spock. Enjoying the party?" asked Jim.

"It's perfectly adequate," Spock commented dryly.

"Right…" droned Jim.

They conversed for nearly fifteen minutes about the Enterprise. The restaurant began to grow more crowded and the juke box was getting louder with every new song.

A strangely familiar voice rang out towards the direction of the bar. It took Spock a moment to identify the voice, but when he looked over at Christine, who was kissing McCoy on the cheek. "Whoops, wrong blue shirt!" She then patted him on the cheek and walked away, only to stumble and fall to the ground. "Owww," the drunken Christine groaned.

"Ah, jeez," Nyota exclaimed and began to push her way through the crowd, quickly making her way over to Christine.

Spock watched the intoxicated Christine being helped up by Uhura. The latter dragged the blonde towards the door.

Jim turned to Spock. "Hey, I'm gonna go make sure she's okay."

"I will accompany you," Spock said in a tone that sounded rather concerned. Spock led the way out, pushing his way through the crowd. When they reached the door, the welcoming feeling of the nighttime air filled his lungs, releasing him from the overbearing atmosphere of the bar.

Not far from the door was Nyota, who was stooped over Christine, who was on all-fours, spilling her contents into the alleyway. As much as it disgusted him, he couldn't help but feel a pang of pity in the back of his mind. As she continued to retch, she also began to cry.

"It's alright, Christine," Nyota cooed, patting her back. Jim walked over and knelt down. Spock followed, but remained towering over the three.

"Everyone get outta the way," McCoy grumbled, appearing suddenly. He produced a small metal syringe that he stuck into her arm. "You're gonna be fine, Chapel. Can't hold your drink, that's all. Get her home and some sleep, she'll be alright."

The loud groan laced with agony that Christine began to exhale constituted otherwise.

"Who's gonna get her home?" McCoy looked around.

"Allow me," Spock said, taking a step forward, much to his own surprise. They all looked at him. "Everyone came here to enjoy their shore leave. I am willing to assist her."

* * *

A/N: Gosh, Christine's hammered. LOL. And I posted a link that shows Christine's dress in this chapter.


	18. Chapter 18

Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek. If I did, the next movie would be in production right now.

A/N: So, originally, Uhura or McCoy was gonna drag her home, so the idea of Spock doing the honors completely struck me by surprise. It wasn't until when I reread the chapter once it was posted when I was like "Wait, what?" This story has mind-controlling powers, I swear…

Oh, and after watching Amok Time, my dad now refers to Christine as the Busybody Soup Lady. Great.

* * *

Shortly after volunteering his night to assist Christine home safely, Nyota supplied him with her home address; moments later, a shuttlebus promptly arrived and he carefully maneuvered her up the steps and down the narrow aisle, sitting down beside her in the back. As the bus departed, he watched a composed Jim wrap a comforting arm around a frantic Nyota's waist and began to escort her back inside the bar.

While Christine pressed the right side of her face against the cool glass window, Spock repeated the address in his mind, careful not to miss the stop. He recognized it as belonging to an apartment building not more than two blocks from the Academy, making it very accessible to the young woman.

Spock looked over at Christine and pulled her away from the glass, which she had suddenly became intent on becoming rather intimate with, not unlike her behavior with Doctor McCoy. Suddenly, his mind wandered over to that moment in time that he had accidentally witnessed -- the spontaneous osculation of the doctor on his mandible. He did not know why, but it made Spock feel slightly uneasy; his Vulcan heart began to beat rather quickly, causing him to wonder if he was the only one able to hear it.

And then, he remembered her words shortly after this. 'Wrong blue shirt.' What she meant by that, he did not know, nor did he care to dwell on her sudden bursting of private thoughts. Her inner musings were not his concern.

After precisely 6.47 minutes of guiding an intoxicated Christine up three flights of stairs (the elevator lift was under repair), they arrived at the door of her apartment. She reached into her dress and flimsily pulled out a key card that she swiped through a small slot on the door. The door then buzzed, notifying her that she was allowed to enter. As she pushed open the door, she stumbled slightly, only to be steadied by Spock's strong hands on her hips.

Spock stood in the doorway and watched Christine walk into the living room and setting her key card onto the coffee table. Her movements, though much more coordinated than back at the bar, were sluggish. She was obviously still under the effects of inebriation and though Spock was going to originally let her handle herself once she reached her apartment, he suddenly decided against it. Taking a few step forwards, he allowed his hands to hover over her shoulders to keep her from falling over.

Moments later, she turned to him, her eyes glazed over. She had a peculiar grin that was beginning to settle upon her lips. Suddenly, she wrapped her arms around his midsection and pulled herself closely into him. His heart, though located in the place of a Human liver, was beginning to beat incredibly fast, which he quickly subsided; if it were not for his ability to control his biological functions solely with his mind, he was quite sure that it would resort in a heart attack.

"Mmm, you smell nice." Christine nestled her face into the crook of his neck, much to his discomfort.

Suddenly a loud snore into his ear confirmed her status of consciousness. He slowly looked down at the woman, who was beginning to slouch as she descended further into her alcohol-induced slumber.

And how someone could sleep standing up, he did not know.

* * *

Christine woke up to the loud beeping of her PADD. Groggily, she raised her head to find that she was on her sofa, still in the same dress from the night before. Turning off the alarm, she sat up on the couch and look around.

Trying to remember the night before, she rubbed her forehead, where a mind-blowing headache was beginning to form. And then she remembered.

"Ugh," she groaned. She usually didn't drink except for rare occasions, and she suddenly remembered why. She was never the best at holding her drink. She mentally reminded herself that a glass of water would suffice the next time around.

As she rose from the couch, she had to steady herself, careful not to bump into the coffee table. Christine wondered how she got home. After a moment of trying to remember the events of last night, her mind immediately drew to a single name.

Spock.

She vaguely recalled being on a bus with him, not long after she upchucked in the alleyway neighboring the bar. The next thing she knew, was stumbling into her living room, only to be followed by Spock. And for some incomprehensible reason, she hugged him. That was the last thing she could remember. Suddenly, her stomach began to churn. What if she did something regretful? She wasn't going to exactly call it a repeat of the night before her trial fifteen months ago, but what if something did happen?

Then, of course, why would she still be wearing her dress? She moved around slightly and found that her undergarments had not been removed, nor was her makeup smeared in any way. But, that did not exclude the possibility of "first base," a juvenile term that was frequently passed around in her high school days.

But suddenly, she encountered a rectifying truth -- this was Spock, not Jim Kirk or Leonard McCoy, nor any other emotion-based humanoid. This was Spock, and she knew he would not do a thing in the world -- or the universe, rather -- to defy his logical standpoint, no matter how inebriated she may have been at the time.

As Christine crossed the room to enter the bathroom, she slipped off the wrinkled material of her dress. A hot shower would do her good. Suddenly, just as she was about to step into the steaming water, her communicator began to ring. Sighing, she wrapped a towel around herself and went back into the living room to answer it.

Before opening it, she briefly scanned the caller identifier. Why on earth was Starfleet calling her, especially on a Saturday?

"Hello?"

* * *

Spock found himself scanning the seats once more.

Clad in his blue uniform and not a single hair on his head out of place, he was strapped in before the rest of the crew. Merely an hour before, he had received the notification that the Enterprise crew were to abort their shore leave. The reason being was because they had felt it would be prudent for Captain Kirk to get back to his post as Captain as quickly as possible. Starfleet offered the crew more scheduled stops at starbases in compensation, though that did little to appease the humans' needs for temporary asylum.

Spock, on the other hand, was ready the moment he was notified, willing to assist Starfleet in any way possible so that he would be able to fulfill his duties as science officer and second-in-command of the Enterprise. Though, he had to admit to himself, he was looking forward to the shore leave; the Enterprise had been on patrol for sixteen months, three weeks, and two days, and there was hardly a moment when he was not preoccupied with his duties as first-in-command.

"Hey, Spock," Jim greeted him as he passed by, slapping him on the shoulder. Spock took it as a form of friendship and nodded back at him, still not used to the affection that human friends often expressed to each other.

As minutes passed, he saw a very relieved Montgomery Scott; the Scotsman was notorious for his hatred of shore leave; he recalled him once saying that the Enterprise was his one true love, and to part from her would be a crime in itself.

By the time the shuttle was filled with the last of the crewmen not yet aboard the Enterprise, he once more searched the faces of the officers, though he was unsure why; as the door closed and it began to slowly rise from the ground, his ears pricked up, picking up a very familiar voice from the outside.

It wasn't until the door opened that he realized whose face he was searching for.

* * *

Christine ran into the hangar, duffle bag in hand. Looking around, she saw no remnant of a familiar crewmember in sight. Running an anxious hand through her messy hair, she approached a black-clad officer.

"Hi, I'm Doctor Christine Chapel, I think I'm a bit late…I wasn't aware that I was serving aboard," She looked around in worry.

The officer began to scan through a list of names on the PADD. "Ooh, Doctor Chapel, you're on the --"

"Yeah, yeah, as I said, I'm running late."

"Well, if I were you, I'd step up my pace, because the last shuttle is leaving right about…now."

Christine turned quickly to see a grey shuttle begin to slowly rise from the ground. "Oh, give me a break…" she groaned and immediately began to scurry in its direction. When it became clear that it had no intent on waiting on her, she began to viciously wave her arms above her head.

"HEY, STOP THAT SHUTTLE!"

Apparently, luck was finally on her side, because it finally began to descend from the air and landed back on the hangar pavement, the door swung open by a disgruntled Starfleet officer.

"Sorry, sorry," she said, entering the shuttle.

"Name?"

"Chapel, Christine," she answered, looking around the inside of the shuttle. She recognized a couple familiar faces, including those of helmsmen Sulu and Chekov, as well as Jim, who gave her a little smile followed by with a mock salute. She nodded at him, half-annoyed, half-rejoiced to catch the shuttle.

The officer nodded. "Alright, Doctor, you're all set."

Christine muttered a thank you and began to walk down the long rows of the shuttle, searching for a seat. Finally, she found one in the back.

As she sat down and busied herself with the buckles of the seat restraints, she was greeted with an eerily familiar Southern twang.

"Well, well, well, Chapel -- Just like old times, eh?"

* * *

A/N: Dun, dun, dun, it's a vicious circle! Just like old times, indeed, Bones.


	19. Chapter 19

Disclaimer: I think you should all know by now that I don't own Star Trek.

A/N: Yeah, yeah, I know. Long time, no update...Sorry, I just started up school again and things have been rather hectic. But, I will update much more quickly now that I have things under control.

Short chapter...Yeah.

* * *

"You alright, lass? You look a tad disheveled, if I may say so." Christine glanced to her other side to find Chief Engineer Scott.

She smiled, realizing that she hadn't seen him since her departure fifteen months prior. "I'm fine, Scotty. How are you?"

"Aye, I'm fine…Especially after I got the call this morning. I wasn't sure if I could survive much longer without my bonnie lass."

"Ah, shut it, Scotty. First goddamn shore leave back home in over a year and we get called back in less than twenty-four hours…Starfleet's off their rocker."

"Doc, it sounds like you've got a few tight screws in that head of yours. Maybe some juice will loosen you up a bit," the engineer observed, unscrewing a silver flask that he had pulled from his jacket pocket.

Christine, who was stuck in the middle of this illicit transaction, swiftly demean them. "I thought we've been over this? If someone sees you --"

"Cool it, Chapel," McCoy said, the bottle drawing closer to his mouth with every word. "If anything, Jim'll mosey on over here for a sip or two."

She merely rolled her eyes as McCoy passed the flask back to Scotty, who was beginning to start up a conversation with one of the yeomen, a brunette woman named Mira Romaine. Christine seized the chance to speak with McCoy.

"Er, I wanted to say…About last night --"

"Ah, it's alright, Chapel. I know I'm a handsome man and all, so I know it's mighty hard to resist. I'm just glad to see ya in one piece. I'm guessin' that guacamole-for-blood hobgoblin got ya home safe." He had a look in his eye that definitely said more than his mouth did.

A long silence passed between them. She then smiled.

"Shut up. What the hell are you even doing here? I thought we established last time we were on a shuttle that you hated space."

McCoy closed his eyes, attempting to block out the sudden vibration from underneath them. "Gotta pay my child support somehow."

Christine rolled her eyes and leaned back against the headrest. Realizing after a couple of seconds that the turbulence was too rough for her to sleep through, she scanned the faces of the crewmen who she had departed from fifteen months ago.

Suddenly, she recognized a pair of brown eyes that she had seen much more recently. Her headache resurfaced, causing her to divert her attention elsewhere.

"McCoy, get off my arm rest," she grumbled, knocking his trembling hand from the metal bar separating them. Reclaiming it, she gripped it with as much intensity as she was able to afford without her fingers falling off from lack of blood circulation.

"Go away, Spock, just go away…" she whispered, hoping that it was quiet enough for no one else to hear.

* * *

"Ah, home sweet home," McCoy sarcastically remarked as Christine followed him into the sickbay.

They were both finally in uniform, though Starfleet felt bent on torturing the young woman with assigning her a dress uniform. She was constantly pulling down at the bottom, not used to the feeling of her skinny legs being bare for all the Beta Quadrant to see.

"Quit messin' with your dress, Chapel, ya look fine. Heck, ya even look like a gal for the first time since I've known ya."

"Thanks, McCoy, you're so insightful," she glared at him as she went through the PADD on one of the medical counters. She began to open up the cabinets for an inventory check. "I'll be sure to come to you for fashion advice."

"Hey, I'll take care of the inventory if ya buzz the bridge and tell 'em we're all set down here."

"Alright, fine with me," she remarked, handing him the PADD and heading over to the small screen mounted on the wall next to the main computer. She pressed the small button underneath. "Sickbay to bridge."

"Bridge here," the ensign assigned to communications answered, fiddling clumsily with his earpiece. "Can you here me?"

"Yes, I can hear you clearly. You don't need the earpiece for intership communications…Never mind. Just tell Captain Kirk sickbay is all set in case anyone decides to keel over."

"Er, yes ma'am, right away."

Suddenly, an off-screen voice corrected the young man. "Ensign, readdress Lieutenant Chapel with her correct rank. Aboard this ship, she is your superior officer, not a fellow cadet. You will address her as either Lieutenant or Doctor, not as a civilian title."

"I apologize, Lieutenant Chapel, my fault…" stumbled the embarrassed ensign before cutting off their line.

"Yikes, what ruffled Spock-o's feathers?" came McCoy's perturbed voice.

Christine sighed, turning her back on the screen and returning to help McCoy with the inventory despite their agreement. She needed to get her minds off things. As she went through the various respirator mouthpieces and subsequently checked them off the list, McCoy commented, "So I guess Nyota's stayin' home with Mikey?"

"Moe-zee," she said, enunciating. "His name's Mosi. And yes, I suppose she did."

"I wonder how that's gonna fit. I'm not too sure what our shore leave schedule is, but that don't sound like an ideal environment for the kid." McCoy sat down at his computer and began to log in.

"As if you should be giving out parenting advice," Christine commented, looking through the bottles of terakine. "I'm sure they know what they're doing. It's for the best, anyways. Jim's a captain, he can't just give up his job like that."

"Yeah, I guess you're right."

"Uh-huh," Christine acknowledged Suddenly, as she began to monitor the green Vulcan blood packets kept in the small fridge along with the human blood, she wondered what really was wrong with Spock.

The last time he went off on someone like that was…No. She would not think about fifteen months ago. She would not think about that night.

She slammed the fridge door closed and avoided McCoy's cautious gaze.

As far as she was concerned, Spock was well on his own if he needed help with anything, personal or professional.

* * *

A/N: AH. The tension. Sometimes, I just want them to get over themselves and have lots of hot and angry sex. In the recreation room. In front of everybody. Just kidding. Or am I?


	20. Chapter 20

Disclaimer: Oh, the havoc I would wreak if I owned Star Trek.

* * *

Christine filled her cup with Organian herbal tea, balancing her dinner tray with her free hand. She slowly turned her head to see a group of much-too-young ensigns seated at the nearest table. Their boyish eyes were glued to her form, unwilling to yank their thoughts from those of the physical kind. She rolled her eyes and shot them a dangerous glare. Nearly a week back on the ship and she had been bombarded with stares from those of the male persuasion.

When she joined McCoy and Jim at a small circular table in the back, she half-threw her tray onto the metal surface, creating a loud bang that restored the ensigns' turned heads back to their rightful positions.

"God, you'd think that by now I'd get used to supposedly turkey, but is really Gorn meat sandwiches," McCoy said, jabbing his fork at the mystery meat on his tray. He grabbed the edge of the table as a series of turbulent vibrations rang out from underneath them. "Not to mention the past three damned hours my face spent fused to the toilet."

"Think about it, Bones -- We're boldly going where no man has ever gone before," Jim exclaimed, throwing his arms in the air, his spoonful of blue applesauce splattering onto Christine's face. "Whoops, sorry Christine."

"Oh, you mean like Chapel's va--" Everyone at the table looked up at McCoy. His cup of ale was halfway raised to his mouth. "Violin. Chapel's violin. You'd be crazy to go near her playin' that thing, she could beat the Devil."

An awkward silence passed. Jim overloaded his sandwich with mustard, while Christine picked at her bread, all the while shooting deadly glares at McCoy.

The Enterprise was approaching one of the many starbases that inhabited the Beta Quadrant; it would be only another hour or so until they were ready for docking.

"Speakin' of the Devil," McCoy muttered under his breath as Spock joined the tongue-tied trio. His tray, like hers, was filled with anything that wouldn't catch up with him later.

"Greetings, Captain," the Vulcan science officer greeted his superior officer with a swift nod, not giving anyone else a moment's notice. McCoy silently mimicked the Commander, dramatically flicking his wrist and sticking his tongue out. Christine nudged him in the knee just before Spock glanced over at the doctor, making McCoy fidget slightly.

"So, um," Kirk piped in, "How is everyone adjusting to being back onboard?"

Christine nodded her response as she sipped from her tea, while Spock immediately jumped on the subject.

"It is satisfactory, Captain, that your return has prompted the immediate continuation of the initial mission."

McCoy nearly choked on his drink. "If by satisfactory, you mean incredibly inconvenient, then hell, I think I agree with ya for once, Spock-o." He raised his glass to the solemn Vulcan.

"That was not my statement, Doctor. I merely expressed my approval of his dedication to the ship and its crew."

"Well, woop-dee-doo, Spock! It's a shame that Jim doesn't work us like you did…Twenty hour days were the norm until we came home last week --"

"Doctor, I do not appreciate your tone --"

"Oh, I'll give you somethin' to not appreciate, alright --"

They were both on their feet now, with only a small circular table separating them; Spock seemed rigid, unwilling to engage in any sort of conflict, but still stood his ground. McCoy, on the other hand, was more than ready to take a swing, whether it be verbal or physical.

"Could you both just cut it out?!"

Everyone's heads turned to look at Christine. Both of her fists were clenched, the left one holding a rather dangerous grip on her metal spork.

"You alright, Chapel? You look it bit --"

"I would be a damn lot better if I didn't have to listen to you both constantly bickering! Everyday! Back and forth, back and forth…You two are like children bent on getting the last word! And I'm sick of it!"

"I agree with Christine," Jim said, raising a hand to signify his input. He then leaned over and whispered underneath his breath, "I think we can tag team 'em."

Christine groaned and rolled her eyes, fed up with it all. She suddenly stood, leaving her tray on the table. She felt all three of the officers eyes burning into her back as she left the mess hall.

Moments later, she was back inside her room. Christine slumped down on her bed. . Her head was fuming with frustration; a headache was beginning to raise her aggravation to an entirely new level. She hugged her knees to her chest and laid down sideways, feeling like the walls were caving in on her as the migraine intensified.

She was not meant to be here. And she knew it…Every inch of her being told her that morning -- the morning that she returned aboard the Enterprise -- that this was not her home. It was away from anything and everything that was apart of her: her family, her quiet position at the Academy, her modest apartment. None of those things were onboard and for whatever reason, she fooled herself into thinking that she could find something to hold onto that would stabilize her.

But that something was gone. She had lost all hope of gaining back whatever stability she had in her life fifteen months ago, when she made the biggest mistake of her life.

Pushing back tears, she left her room and headed back towards the mess hall. Seconds later, as she turned a corridor, she ran into Jim.

"Sir, I'd like to apologize --"

Suddenly, a very violent shake interrupted her mid-sentence, sending her stumbling halfway across the room in an attempt to steady herself.

"What the hell --" Christine muttered, regaining her balance.

Jim banged his fist on a small device on the wall that linked him to the bridge. "Bridge, Captain here! Explain!"

"Sir, we are being fired upon by an unknown vessel! It's also attacking the starbase!"

"Red alert, Lieutenant!" He then turned to her. "Get down to sickbay, Christine! We're gonna need all the help we can get!"

Christine nodded and spun around towards the nearest elevator, running at breakneck speed.

* * *

Uncalculated turbulence. Red alert.

Spock looked up from his computer at the bright light flashing in the corner of the room, signaling the ship's current distress status. The siren shrieked into his sensitive ears, making him slightly uncomfortable. This did not yield him in his pursuit to cross the room; moments later, he was in the long corridor. He made a right, making his way to the nearest elevator lift.

Suddenly, just as he sensed the closeness of the elevator the ship rocked from side-to-side, forcing him to clutch the wall to avoid injury.

Moments later, he was at the elevator. It opened and he found it unoccupied. Just as he stepped inside and was about to announce his desired location, he turned at the sound of speedily approaching footsteps.

"Hold the elevator!" the owner of the footsteps called to him. It was when the officer entered the lift that Spock could finally bring himself to realize who it was.

Christine Chapel hurried into the elevator, her respiration harsh. She leaned against the opposite wall of the small rectangular lift, staring up at him briefly through exhausted eyes.

Spock immediately focused his attention on the speaker with a small button underneath it perched on the wall. He pressed the button.

"This is Commander Spock, I'm on my way to the bridge."

Jim was already on the bridge. He answered and immediately explained the situation regarding the attacking ship. "Spock, the monitors say that Christine is there with you. You both need to get down to the transporter room. The intership communications have gone haywire and you two are the only senior officers that we can get on that starbase to aid in evacuations."

"Understood, Captain." The line then went dead. It was mere seconds when the doors parted to reveal the corridor that the transporter room was located on. Christine wasted no time in; she immediately strode out, as if he was not even there. She was in a half-run by the time they reached the transporter room.

Chief Engineer Montgomery Scott was at the controls, preparing for the immediate energizing of the evacuation team. A small group of half a dozen red-shirted ensigns were waiting for the two senior officers. As soon as they entered, the group immediately stood in attention, waiting for instructions.

Spock immediately informed them of the sudden attack of an unidentified vessel upon the starbase, and themselves. Their mission was to evacuate the inhabitants of the starbase.

Moments later, they were energized into the middle of a vast array of confusion and chaos. Starbase personnel were scattering into different directions, avoiding any possible of danger at all costs.

Christine suddenly took action, turning to the ensigns. "Two of you, come with me! If there are any injuries, I need to get them aboard as soon as possible!" They nodded at her and raced ahead. Just as Christine was about to follow, Spock called to her. "Doctor Chapel?"

"Yeah?" She turned, her blue eyes wide in alert and illuminated by the sparks of the damaged wiring protruding from the walls.

A brief moment of silence passed between the two. "Be careful."

* * *

Nearly ten minutes after energizing onto the starbase, Christine and the two ensigns were in the process of beaming up as many people as possible. With the maximum limit of only six per turn, it was her duty to pick out the neediest of the crowd; while there were few injuries, it was difficult splitting up families.

Just as the last of them were beamed aboard, Christine pulled out her communicator. "Doctor Chapel to the bridge."

The line was filled with static and it was very difficult to make out Jim's voice. "Christine…defeated enemy vessel…beam aboard…starbase…falling apart…" All communications then failed. She began to fiddle with the communicator.

A screeching sound filled her ears. She looked up. Shrapnel was raining from the dome-like ceiling. Shielding her face in instinct, she prayed to be energized on time.

Just as a sharp, painful sensation began to tear at her forearms, she was pushed out of the way by a very powerful force. Her forehead hit the steel wall and as she began to slowly lose consciousness, Christine recognized the lifeless body pinned to the floor by a large, fin-like piece of metal that was stained with fresh, Vulcan blood.

* * *

A/N: I'm sure you all want to beat me with a pillow case filled with bars of soap. But, if you did that, how would you be able to find out what happens next? Hm? Reviews would be amazing.


	21. Chapter 21

Disclaimer: If I owned Star Trek, I'm sure AP Biology wouldn't be so darn evil.

* * *

Unfamiliar voices heard between constant beeping. Blurry faces staring down at her, hands pinning her down to a cold, hard surface.

_Beep._

"She's lost too much blood."

_Beep._

"Is there anything we can do?"

_Beep._

Darkness again. The beeping continues for an eternity, but the voices are unintelligible.

* * *

Tonia Barrows stared down at the still body of Christine Chapel; she had an incalculable number of tubes and needles covering nearly every inch of unclothed skin. Returning to the PADD in her hand, she noted the young woman's brief bouts of consciousness; about once or day, or so, her eyelids would slowly uncover her once-illuminant eyes, only to immediately sink back into the lifeless state of being she had been in for the past two weeks.

When she had been brought back to Earth nearly a fortnight ago by a special team from the emergency corps, she had suffered severe blood loss. Christine had been one of the people who was in charge of evacuating a starbase that was being attacked by a Klingon Warbird. The vessel had retreated upon being fired upon by the Enterprise. Tonia, who had been reassigned back to Earth after her father was diagnosed with a rare and incurable form of cancer, was very concerned to see her former shipmate in such a dire condition.

Just as Tonia turned to go and check on the other patients in the critical care unit of Starfleet Medical, she heard a small pain-laced groan from behind her.

She turned her head slightly to glance back at the bed-ridden patient, thinking her mind was just playing tricks on her. But, the moment she saw a familiar pair of blue eyes staring at her through baggy, squinted eyes, her suspicions were confirmed.

She hurried to the door of the small room and peered into the corridor.

"Doctor! Come Quickly!"

* * *

Christine felt a nauseous pang in the pit of her stomach as her eyes reacted to the brightness of the room. She groaned loudly as a ripple of pain ripped through her arms and up into her shoulders. As she attempted to adjust her vision, she heard a woman's voice yelling.

This was promptly followed by loud footsteps that hurried into the room. The owner of said footsteps loomed over her numb body, peering down at her. She was unable to make out his face, but judging by the white coat he seemed to be donning, he was a doctor.

"Miss Chapel? Can you hear me?" The man's voice said. Suddenly, a very cold sensation was pressed upon her chest. As her vision began to slowly grow clearer, she recognized it as a handheld device that monitored one's breathing levels.

The doctor then looked up. "Nurse Barrows, would you kindly hand me the hypospray?"

The brunette assistant, who seemed very familiar to Christine, quickly handed the man a silver, syringe-like mechanism, which he promptly jabbed into the crook of her neck. Christine yelped suddenly in surprise, unused to the sudden energy that was now being transported throughout her still body.

"Miss Chapel?" the doctor repeated.

"Ugh…" she groaned, doing her best to regain her voice. Her throat was very dry and felt as if she hadn't spoken in an eternity. "Whuhh…"

"Miss Chapel," he said, "You are currently in the intensive care unit at Starfleet Medical in San Francisco. Can you remember anything at all?"

It took her a moment to answer. She closed her eyes and attempted to remember the last time she wasn't bedridden in a hospital. "St-Starbase 23..." she recalled suddenly, remembering the chaos that she had been beamed down in the middle of.

"You are correct, Miss Chapel. A Klingon Warbird was in the process of attacking the starbase and when your ship arrived, you, along with a few others, were beamed down to assist in the evacuations. You were somehow knocked against a wall, injuring your head. However, your traumatic loss of blood is mainly due to the shrapnel that had torn the skin on your arms to pieces. You're lucky to be alive."

"Enterprise…What about the Enterprise?" she stuttered, suddenly remembering her loss of communications with the ship.

"Most of your crewmates are fine. An emergency corps group brought the injured back home."

"Most…The injured…Are there more?"

It took a moment for the doctor to answer. "It would be best if you resumed your rest. Numerous family members and friends have been visiting you since your arrival two weeks ago --"

"T-Two weeks?" she exclaimed.

"Just relax, Miss Chapel. You will be back on your feet again quite soon." He then pulled out another hypospray and immediately jabbed it into Christine's right shoulder.

"Wuh…W-Wait," she sputtered, doing her best to fight the sudden fatigue that fell over her. "What about Sp--"

But she was unable to finish her sentence. The medication in the hypospray had thrown her into a spiral of darkness.

* * *

"Hey, Christine."

Christine pulled her eyes from the window directly facing her bed. The brilliant view of San Francisco's bridge had dimmed somewhat after nearly a week's worth of staring at. It was her only outlet to the outside world, but the only thing it would tell her was the weather or if it was day or night.

Standing at the doorway of her room was Nyota Uhura, dressed in her black command uniform.

Christine lifted herself up from her pillows as she approached the bed. "Ugh, I know, I look horrible," she said. "They won't let me use a mirror in this place."

And she had no idea why. It had been nearly a week after she had regained consciousness and she had more than enough time to assess her injuries: severely lacerated arms and stitched-up cut on her forehead. She supposed it keeps patients from worrying about petty things, such as physical appearances, and more about their road to recovery.

"Well, let's just say you've looked better," Nyota smiled, pulling up a chair.

"Ugh, God," Christine groaned, surveying the room for the billionth time that week. "You've no idea how sick I am of this place. And to top it all off, they're not telling me a thing about Spock."

Nyota shifted in her chair and stared out the window.

"What?" Christine sensed something was amiss judging by the unusual display of discomfort from her friend.

"Nothing…It's nothing. He's fine, I've seen him. The doctors say that he just regained consciousness the other day, a day or so after you did. But he suffered a little more than you did."

Christine suddenly recalled the shred of shrapnel that had protruded from his chest, nailing him the ground. "Tell me."

"His left lung was punctured severely, making it difficult for him to be able to breathe on his own. They don't know if…If he will be able to do so for a long time. They said he's lucky, though. His Vulcan physiology saved him. If he were Human, his heart would be wear his lungs are." Nyota offered Christine a smile, but it did very little to comfort her.

"This is all my fault," Christine groaned. Her eyes began to fill with hot tears.

"Don't say that, Christine. You were doing your job. If it wasn't for you, those scientists wouldn't have made it alive. You should be happy."

"Happy? Because of me, Spock might not be okay after all this. Because of me, he's --"

"Going to be alright," cooed Nyota. "Don't worry about it, Christine. You've been through too much in the past year and a half. You don't need to add this to the list of negatives."

Christine sighed inwardly and fell back against her pillows. "I hope you're right, Nyota."

Little did Christine know, Nyota's expression echoed her exact sentiments. _Me too, Christine…Me too._

* * *

A/N: :O ME TOO CHRISTINE. Next chapter, Spock appearance. That is, if you review :D


	22. Chapter 22

Disclaimer: You know what? If I owned Star Trek, the DVD wouldn't be taking so darn long to hit stores. Curse you, November 17! *shakes fist*

A/N: Erm. Short chapter. More coming this weekend. Sorry for the sudden hiatus that seemed to sprung over the course of the past couple of weeks.

* * *

It had been nearly three weeks after she had gained consciousness in the critical care unit and Christine Chapel was back on her feet once again, having been released from medical supervision two days prior. Save for the bandages coated with aloe, she was relatively unscathed. Her forearms, though still in pain, were much better after all of the shrapnel was picked out of her skin, avoiding a dangerous infection.

She had a dangerous yearning to return to work as soon as possible, so Starfleet Medical had given her the position of substituting for Doctor Gallagher; he had to travel to a planetoid penal colony on short notice. Christine had surveyed the small list of patients she was temporarily in charge of and she had been surprised to find Spock's name on the list.

Christine took long strides as she passed through a pair of double doors; she was now in a long corridor, lined with a numerous unlabeled doors. As she passed each one, she peered into the laser-proof glass and glanced at the bedridden patient, hoping that the virtually unrecognizable ones weren't the object of her search.

It was when she reached the end of the hallway, as she was beginning to lose doubt, that she had found the room she was looking for; the identification PADD attached to the door gave it away instantly. How many Starfleet patients are Vulcans, after all?

She immediately began to adjust her blue Starfleet uniform for reasons unbeknownst even to her. As she reached up to press the button that would automatically open the door, her hand began to tremble, not knowing what she'd find on the other side.

* * *

Spock closed his eyes and did his best to block out the sudden upheaval of pain in his chest cavity. The hospital-assigned short sleeved-shirt concealed the white bandages freshly stained with his green blood, but did little to ease his physical suffering.

He did not need to look over at the digital clock on the to know what time it was. The doctor was seven minutes and thirty-nine seconds late for his latest check-up. He had been notified that a substitute was taking the place of his original doctor; he silently mused that the substitute was probably some sort of teenage intern who did not know the difference between an Andorian appendix and Betazoid liver.

He heard footsteps approach the door and pause momentarily before entering the room. Then, the doctor entered; a trigger of unwelcoming familiarity rushed through the back of his mind.

The short sleeves of her uniform revealed her bandaged forearms. Slowly her blue eyes met his dark ones, but immediately after focused her attention on the PADD in her hand. He let his eyes wander to the deep cut that was stitched up at an approximate thirty-two degree angle from her right eyebrow.

Christine Chapel, the young woman whom he had risked his very life in saving, was standing before him, relatively unscathed. Her blonde hair was pulled back at always, but instead of the severe bun, it was in a loose ponytail -- for some reason, it made his heart beat slower, as if it somehow relaxed him.

A small smile seemed to creep upon her lips as she scanned her PADD for his medical report. "Life can be ironic." She looked up at him for the first time. "I'm so sorry."

He, of course, did not see the irony in the current situation. "I fail to see what you find as ironic, Doctor."

Her smile began to fade away. "It seems that every time I get in some sort of scuffle, I end up in a hospital bed. It's a surprise to see it's you this time." She pulled up a chair that was against the wall and sat down. "I'm so sorry."

And she was being sincere; her eyes began to steadily fill with tears, but she breathed inward and pushed them back. She was trying to hide her weakness.

"I suppose it's time we changed out those bandages," she muttered, standing up suddenly and pulling out a roll of bandages from the small medical table next to her.

Spock eased himself up and did his best not to show the immense pain that he was in. Once he was positioned close enough for her to do her job, she reached for the bottom of his white shirt and pulled it up, revealing the blood-stained bandages. Worry flashed across Christine's eyes, but she pulled out a small laser from the table and began to angle it.

Suddenly, a warm sensation jetted across his lower stomach, only to rise up to his chest cavity; as the bandages were burned off, Christine began to dispose of them, tossing them quickly into a small disposal cylinder. Once the tourniquets were disbanded completely, she pulled out a small hypospray and inserted it into his midsection, causing him to mentally wince; suddenly, just as quickly as the pain occurred, it began to numb.

As Christine began to tear off the bandages from the roll, she glanced at his barely-healing wounds.

"I'm so sorry," she muttered. She did not look at him.

"For what are you apologizing for, Doctor?" he asked, lifting up his arms as she wrapped the bandages around his body. She stepped forward to securely layer the back; as her arms reached around his body, she smoothed out the material. Suddenly, she stood there for a moment, hands remaining on the cotton bandages on his back.

Suddenly it occurred to him. This was a hug, or at least what Humans used to express sincerity or friendship of some sort. He recalled Nyota's embrace in the elevator shortly after he lost his mother.

It took him a moment to realize what he should do, and as he slowly reached up to touch her back, she pulled away and buried herself once again in the PADD. "Looks like you're all done."

As she turned towards the door, Spock leaned back against the head of his bed, watching her leave. Suddenly, as she reached for the small button that opened the door, she froze.

"Why did you do it?"

"I am at loss for what you are asking me, Doctor. Why did I do what?"

"Why did you do it…Sacrifice your life to save mine."

"You are a member of the Enterprise, and as First Officer, it is my duty to see to the safety of every member of the crew."

She closed her eyes and shook her head furiously. "It was a stupid thing to do."

"It would be hardly logical to consider an act of sacrifice for the good of Starfleet to be considered, as you call it, stupid."

She did not answer, but instead remained in silence.

He continued. "Logic dictates that the needs of the many outweighs the needs of the few."

"That was not the Kobayashi Maru simulator. That was real. For the guy who programmed the damned test, you seem to be pretty out of tune with what reality entails." She was not angry. She was frustrated, but she was not angry.

"And what does reality entail, Christine?" This was the first time he used her first time in recent memory. Not since…He pushed back the memory of that night and focused on the present.

"Reality entails that the good of the needed outweigh the good of the one."

And with that, she turned to take her leave. As the door closed behind her, he continued to stare at where she previously stood.

"You _are_ needed, Christine," he whispered, his eyes glued to the door. What caused him to say those words was completely unknown to his keen mind.

Seconds past and he remained staring at the door; a strange thought passed through the back of his mind. He wanted her to come back. He could not explain his sudden craving for her presence, which was accompanied by a strange and unfamiliar feeling at the pit of his stomach.

Spock could have sworn that his acute hearing picked up a muffled sob on the other side of the door. Suddenly, the footsteps started up again, gaining speed as they fled from his room.

If it had not been for his embedded ability to obey the orders that rendered him bedridden, Spock would have gone after her.

* * *

A/N: Well this is getting interesting. I hope. Oh, and you can totally tell that I watched _Wrath of Khan_ quite recently. Oh, and for everyone's patient waiting, I have a surprise for you all. Go look at my avatar on my profile page. Ooh yeah. :)


	23. Chapter 23

Disclaimer: If I owned Star Trek, this would be an Oscar award-winning film starring Kristen Bell and Zachary Quinto, with a non-canonical (at least as far as this story is concerned) cameo by Walter Koenig. Obviously it is not, so...Yeah.

* * *

Weeks had passed since the first time Christine had seen Spock in the intensive care unit; it had also been the last.

Miraculously, though partially owing to his Vulcan physiology, he swiftly recovered and wasted no time in returning to his designated duties; though, despite his eagerness to return to the Enterprise, Starfleet assigned him a temporary senior position at Starfleet Academy.

Christine, on the other hand, was promoted to a teaching position at the Academy -- a completely different atmosphere from her usual substituting job or the halls of Starfleet Medical Headquarters. She was also promoted, though quietly; Lieutenant Chapel was now Lieutenant Commander Chapel.

She was finally getting the respect (and the salary) she had always craved; she had to admit, it was rather pleasant.

* * *

"That's totally not a word, Christine."

"Are you kidding me, Ab? Don't you _read_?"

Christine and Abigail Chapel were seated across from each other cross-legged on the floor of the Chapel family living room. An electronic Scrabble board was placed between them, which gave off a blue glow in the dimness of the living room; Abigail's small five-year-old daughter, Naomi, was asleep on the sofa behind them.

"Nihilarian. It's a person who dwells on unimportant things. Here's an example; you are a nihilarian because you are wasting time arguing with me about it."

Abigail rolled her eyes. "I still don't believe you."

"Maybe you can ask your little boy toy Pavel," jeered Christine.

"Christine, you're just jealous that I can keep a man."

Christine glanced at the coffee table next to her and opened a drawer; she then tossed a heavy object to her sister. "What the hell is this?" she said, scanning the ancient artifact in her hands.

"A dictionary. You know that mom loves antiques," Christine answered, smirking.

Suddenly, her personal communicator rang.

"And while you are looking that up, I'll go answer this," Christine said, pulled her communicator from her pocket and walking into the kitchen; she did not want to wake her niece with her conversation.

Not bothering to even look at the caller identification, she lifted the communicator to her ear. "Hello?"

A familiar voice answered, one which she promptly interrupted midway through its formal greeting.

"How did you get this number?"

"That is irrelevant. I am already in possession of it, so it would impossible to disband."

"Alright, fine. Why are you calling me?"

"Would it be possible for us to conduct a meeting?"

"Erm," Christine said, glancing at the timepiece on the wall. "It's nearly eight…Ugh. Yeah, sure, what the heck. When and where?"

"Does within the next hour sound agreeable to you?"

"Yeah, alright."

There goes her Saturday night.

Shortly after he gave her the location, Christine was back in the living room, grabbing her jacket that was on the back of the arm chair.

"Hey, where ya going?" Abigail asked.

"I'm…conducting a meeting with a colleague." She avoided any specifics with her gossip-hungry sister.

"Conducting a meeting? Sounds sexual."

"Shut up," Christine groaned, pulling on her jacket. "I guess I'll see you later. I'll go back to my place afterwards."

"You mean you both will go to your place afterwards."

Christine rolled her eyes at her younger sister as she walked towards the front door.

"Don't you have a word to look up?"

And with that, Christine slammed the door behind her and trudged out into the chilly night air.

* * *

"Decaf, please."

The waitress nodded and went to prepare her order.

The small coffee shop was anything but crowded; the reason may have been the lateness of the hour, but its nook-like location may have also played a factor. Christine was seat at a small, circular table in the back.

"Lieutenant Commander." A familiar, stiff voice sounded above her, causing Christine to look up at the source.

There before the table stood Spock, but there was something disturbingly different about him; disturbingly different, of course, if one would consider the fact that instead of his usual Starfleet regalia, he was sporting normal clothing.

Christine suddenly wondered who died, or if Vulcans could suddenly contract multiple personality disorder.

But, despite the fact that this was the first time she had seen him without a Starfleet-designated uniform, the blackness of his attire seemed to resonate a similar professional vibe. There was no separating the Vulcan from formality; to do so would take away his very identity.

Spock sat down in the chair opposite hers. The waitress suddenly appeared, coffee in hand. She handed Christine the steaming cup and just as Christine reached into her jacket pocket to grab a couple of credits, Spock waved her off. Before she even realized it, he had handed her enough credits to be her tip for the entire week.

"You didn't have to do that, you know," Christine mumbled as the happy waitress walked away. "I had enough. You didn't even order anything."

"I do not want any coffee," he merely stated. "Are you well?"

"I'm back at work."

"You did not answer my question, Lieutenant Commander."

"If I answer your question, will you finally stop addressing me by rank? It's irritating. My name's Christine."

A moment of uncomfortable silence passed between them.

Christine sighed. "Yes, I've been recovering well. I had the last of my stitches taken out of my forehead just last week."

"I am pleased to hear that, Christine."

Christine doubted it pleased Vulcans to hear anything, but something in his tone seemed to resonate otherwise.

"And I guess you're doing okay?" she asked, tilting her head slightly to the side.

"It would be false to say that I am completely recovered, though I suppose I should consider myself lucky, as you Humans put it."

"I'm sorry." she took a long sip from the small cup of steaming coffee.

"There is nothing for which you are to apologize for."

"I would say otherwise, but I know you'll only refute it."

He nodded. "That is probable."

Christine could not help but smile. For once, his witty honesty did not make her mentally cringe.

Spock glanced at the digital timepiece on the wall. It was nearing nine o'clock. "The hour is growing late."

"Erm, yeah," Christine said, suddenly standing. "Maybe I should go."

"Allow me to walk you home. You do not live in the most innocuous part of the city."

She shrugged her shoulders. "If you want to. It's just up the street. I guess you can just catch the bus from there, or something."

As they made their way towards the door, Christine tossed her cup into a small recyclable bin.

"Sure beats that replicated stuff back on the Enterprise," she mumbled, pushing open the door and feeling the cold rush of winter blow onto her face.

They both took a left and began to make their way up the sidewalk, hands in pockets to shield themselves from the chilly wind.

Their short journey uphill was silent, save for the slight whirring of the wind in their ears and the whooshing of the vehicles going by.

He followed her into the lobby of her apartment building and they entered the newly-repaired elevator lift. As they reached her door, Christine turned to face him, but kept a respectable distance between them.

"Thanks, I guess. Roger would never have done that." She mentally kicked herself. Roger was an off-topic subject for her; she forced herself to stop thinking about him over the course of time, let alone talk about him.

"It was no hindrance," he replied simply.

And then, they just stood there. Christine counted the long seconds that seemed to turn into everlasting minutes. The words that then fell from her mouth surprised even her.

"Are we ever going to talk about it?"

He remained silent, staring intently at the ground.

"I suppose not," she answered for him, and turned to unlock her front door. Just as she was about to slide her key card into the small slot next to the door, Spock's sudden grip on her wrist pulled her backward. His strong hands moved from her wrist to her shoulders, steadying her.

Suddenly, a pair of persistent lips violently pressed upon her unsuspecting ones, causing her knees to wobble slightly. They pulled away as quickly as they arrived, leaving her wanting more. She looked up at him and smiled. She reached up and wrapped her arms around him, realizing what she had been missing for the past eighteen months.

"Right blue shirt," she whispered as she buried her face into the warm crook of his neck.

**THE END…or is it? Trust me, a sequel is on it's way.**

**Also, I posted a brand new trailer for this story, so go watch it!**

* * *

A/N: I hope everyone got what she meant by that last line, "Right blue shirt." If not, go reread the second half of Chapter 17, and quite possibly the first half of Chapter 18. But aside from that, AWW. FINALLY.

And what is in store for out favorite couple in the next installment? Maybe a little bit of alternate reality selves, maybe a little bit of twist and turns, maybe even a little bit of baby-making. Heck, I dunno, actually. So don't take any of that seriously.

Now the only thing to complete this cornucopia of love is if J.J. Abrams called me up and would ask if he could use this story as the script for the next Star Trek movie. Then I'd be happy. Heck, he wouldn't even have to pay me. I'd be rich in happiness.

Oh, and a couple of days ago was the 5 month anniversary of my posting this story. Holy wow, time sure does cruise on by when you're having fun. Heck, I never even thought I'd ever make it this far, let alone stay on the project this long.


End file.
